


Dot to Dot

by SunMonTue



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (I think?), Derek's POV, Failwolf, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Set pre-S3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-14 04:54:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunMonTue/pseuds/SunMonTue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Derek is distracted (a lot) by Stiles’ moles, to the point of trying to find out where they all are. Because once he knows, his curiosity will be assuaged and he can put his obsession behind him. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the ever-fabulous Rinn who patiently points out all my weird phrases, typos and things which are unique to New Zealand (or maybe just me). Is complete but un-beta'd, so will update as often as chapters are beta'd. (All remaining typos, weird phrases etc are obviously mine).

 

The first time he notices is because he sees a few by accident, the briefest of moments before Stiles is tugging the hem of his t-shirt back into place. He’s never thought about it before, but this flash of dark spots on the pale skin of his stomach makes him realise he’s never seen Stiles without his shirt off. Well, maybe he has, but there were probably extenuating (read:life threatening) circumstances and he can’t be blamed for not paying attention as to whether his co-conspirator was clothed or not. Or whether he had moles scattered over his torso like stars across a moonless night.

He shakes his head, trying to clear the ridiculous and completely fucking pointless thoughts from his head. He has more important things to worry about. He must do. However, as he listens to Erica and Boyd, he finds himself staring, studying the moles on Stiles’ face, and he can only wonder whether the frequency of spots increases or decreases under his shirt. Now that he looks, and is paying attention, he can see some spots beneath his hair, despite its increasing length.

Now that he’s thinking about it he can’t seem to let it go. They all seem perfectly circular, only a few of them slightly raised, and varying in colour from dark chocolate brown to pale pinks – those ones only noticeable now that he’s paying close attention. Stiles shifts and pulls a face at him and he startles, realising that he’s been staring for quite a while and completely missed whatever Erica and Boyd were saying. Arguing about. Whatever.

Standing, he walks away, no destination in mind, just away. He can’t deal with this right now, doesn’t know how to deal with it. Whatever it is. Fuck, he really doesn’t need this right now. ‘Dude, what is his problem? He wouldn’t stop glaring at me!’ He hears the mumbled responses of ‘no idea’ and ‘you just have that effect on people’ and scrunches his face, speeding his pace slightly to put more distance between them and him.

\--- ---

He’d hoped it had been an aberration. A once off. Especially because he’s pretty sure creating fantasies about the sheer possibility of moles; like sunbathing with Stiles and placing little chocolate chips on each individual spot, waiting for the chocolate to melt before licking it off one-by-one… Jerking off to that had been more than fulfilling, however he’s sure that this can’t be normal. For all he knows Stiles’ chest and back (and other certain parts of his body) could be completely unmarked.

There’s nothing for it. He has to find out. He needs the knowledge now, and it’s not like he can just ask Stiles to take his shirt off. Not for the first time since he met Scott and Stiles he wishes Stiles was the one Peter had bitten. Although no, he likes Stiles as he is, much to his dawning horror. He actually likes him, his laugh and his constant movement, enthusiasm and the sheer amount of heart the guy seems to have. For everyone. Except maybe Peter. Okay, definitely Peter.

So he hatches a plan. It’s not difficult or complicated. He’ll just spill a drink on his shirt and offer him a dry one. Actually, if he carries the plan out in Stiles’ bedroom then he doesn’t have to offer him one at all, he can just watch him change, plus there’s the handy full-length mirror, and if he positions himself just so then he might be able to get a view of chest and back at the same time.

Of course it doesn’t work that way. Apparently being clumsy isn’t as easy as it looks, and spilling water onto Stiles only ends up with a damp patch on his bedroom floor and a bare splash on his shirt. Sure he gets another odd look when he suggests Stiles change it anyway, but he listens for once, and he steels himself for the exposure of skin and then… nothing. Who wears two t-shirts? Who? The only thing the second shirt has going for it is that it is smaller and tighter than the one that was over top. And regardless, it’s quickly covered with a loose fitting flannel shirt that Stiles buttons up incorrectly.

He’s pretty sure flinging his glass of water at Stiles a second time would be highly suspicious so instead he just leaves, telling Stiles he’ll be back if Stiles finds anything worthwhile. He can hear Stiles muttering about stupid werewolves, fetching glasses of water like some errand boy and his general odd behavior. Fuck. He really needs to get this out of his system before anyone catches on.

\---

He gets his second opportunity just after a training session. Stiles had insisted on joining in, saying he needed to run and burn off some energy, and he’s starting to realise that he really can’t say no to him. He hopes like hell Stiles never finds that out and puts it to the test. The others are bonding, in high spirits, but he can tell Stiles has been hurt, probably just a few grazes, because he can smell fresh earth mixed with the blood, so his following suggestion has a dual purpose, grazes need to be rinsed out right? So they don’t get infected?

“You should get cleaned up, have a shower.”

“Why? Are you trying to say I smell bad? Do I smell bad?” Stiles asks the rest of them and they all either shake their heads or roll their eyes. It irritates him, and he’s not quite sure why yet.

“I just thought you might want to wash the dirt and grime off.”

“Yeah, that sounds good, but I think I’ll go home to where there’s running water.”

“There’s running water here!”

“Hot running water Derek, there is a difference.”

He scowls, because he has a point.

\---

It’s that comment about hot running water that has him organizing the rebuild of his family home. Untouched money sitting in accounts just gathering interest means he can easily afford to rebuild. So he does. Well, he sets the wheels in motion. He can’t stand to see and smell so many people working on his family home, kicking up leaves on his family land, so he organizes to rent a small house on the edge of town so he can just… avoid it until it’s ready.

He had looked at apartments, but that had seemed too claustrophobic after being used to the open woods for so long. So he moves, Isaac helping him with wide eyes as he lets him pick out furniture for his new bedroom. It feels good. Two days later it feels even better when he comes home from a run (and maybe inspecting the new spray-painted marks where the new foundations will be) to find everyone in the living room. Isaac’s eyes fly to his, fearful, like he’s done something wrong somehow in inviting everyone to what is his home and he shakes his head imperceptibly, lets a small smile show that everything is completely okay.

Despite the feeling of rightness, it’s still a little overwhelming, and he needs some time. He heads for his room, glad that he actually has space he can legitimately call his own now, and that he is building an even bigger and better place for his pack. It seems to have settled something inside of him, some need for permanency. He’s not sure. He needs a shower, or maybe even a bath, a luxury he’s not actually going to partake in with several teenagers in the house.

“So what’s with all the secrecy?”

“What?” he replies, and he’s looking for clean clothes he can change into, and it’s been two weeks since he lost his mind. Partially, and only in regards to Stiles. At least with the whole rebuild he’s had other things to focus his mind on.

“The moving thing! Buying a house! Isaac has a flash new bedroom!”

“Isaac deserves that bedroom. He’s been through a lot.” He hasn’t exactly told anyone about the fact he’s rebuilding. He’s not sure why, except for the fact that it feels nice to have a secret for just himself. A nice secret for once.

“I —. I’m not going to argue with that. Uh… just, I would have helped you know? We all would have.”

He frowns and turns, because there’s a catch to Stiles’ voice, like he’s somehow hurt that he hasn’t been included. Stiles is also picking at a piece of lint on his shirt, pulling it away from his stomach. It’s loose and baggy, and he knows he has to be imagining the flash of pink spot that appears beneath the neckline just before he releases the fabric and he has to stop imagining things. He lets out a frustrated growl and mentally shakes himself. He’s too old for this shit.

“It was something that Isaac and I needed to do together.”

“Oh… I get it. Pack bonding thing. Right. Of course…”

He’s pretty sure Stiles doesn’t get it at all and he just rolls his eyes and strips off his shirt. The skittering he senses in both Stiles’ heart and breathing has him rolling his eyes again, because the guy has serious body issues if he can’t handle him getting ready to have a shower. Surely he doesn’t get like this in the locker rooms? His brain fizzles slightly at the idea of Stiles in the showers at school, fuck, any shower and he brushes past Stiles with a bit more force than necessary and heads for the bathroom.

\---

When there’s an accident he doesn’t have time to think about spots, and his skin is all covered in blood anyway. It’s not good. He can smell too much of Stiles’ blood to make him relax, despite the fact that the conflict is over and they’ve come away the victors. It’s not until later that he realises that Stiles was almost naked in front of him, clothes ripped from him by a rogue wolf and he’s just glad that he got there in time. It adds another facet to his obsession, in that he wants Stiles awake, not unconscious, when he finally gets to study his moles.

It’s all moot point anyway, he’s not suddenly going to peel off anyone’s clothes, not with the situation they’re currently in, and definitely not with Stiles, who hasn’t shown any interest. Direct interest anyway, because he’s pretty sure Stiles would proposition anyone if he thought he’d get an affirmative answer. And even then that doesn’t explain his ongoing and constant pursuit of Lydia. He doesn’t understand teenagers. He didn’t understand himself when he was one, so he sure as hell doesn’t have a chance in hell now.

\---

He doesn’t count the time Stiles got hurt as a time he tried to see him naked. For one, he wasn’t really trying, and secondly, he was too concerned with Stiles staying alive to worry about something as mundane as that. Now that Stiles is back in full fighting fit form, or at least that’s what he’d like them all to believe, he wonders if he’s scarred. He hates the idea of him scarring, marring the smooth untouched skin. Although some of the moles on his face are really very raised and he’s pretty sure they’d feel like a little raised bump under his tongue.

Fuck.

He really needs a hobby.

\---

The third time he’s working on Stiles’ jeep, because it has broken down yet again. He needs a cloth to take off the radiator cap, something he really shouldn’t do until the engine has cooled down, but he kind of needs to work with what he’s got… he turns to Stiles and eyes up the shirt he’s wearing, the formation of an idea starting to take shape. He motions with his hand.

“Take off your shirt.”

“What! Why?”

“I need to twist off the radiator cap and I am not burning my hand for your piece of crap jeep.”

“My jeep is a lady! Anyway, I’ve got just the thing!”

Of course he does. Stiles pulls out an old towel from the back seat and he wrinkles his nose at the musty-dank smell and decides shutting off his olfactory sense right now would be a wonderful idea. If only he could. And he obviously needs to give up, because his plans suck.

“Wouldn’t you heal anyway?”

“Hmm? Oh…” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to feel pain just for the sake of it, despite what kinky things you might be into.”

That makes Stiles flush red and he hides his grin, studying the engine intently.

\---

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Isaac asks for what has to be the fourth time and he shakes his head. Summer holidays mean bored teenagers. Well, more bored than normal, and he has no idea what they’ve got planned, but he’s not getting involved. He’s just told them to stay out of trouble. He has plans anyway, the house is pretty much finished, he just needs the council to sign it off and he’s meeting them at the house today. He’s looking forward to all the work people being gone from his property and new home.

He’s gone there in the middle of the night and walked through the empty house, hearing the ghost of laughter, but also hearing the potential future laughter. It’s not a surprise anymore, it’s difficult to hide something as big as rebuilding a house, but he enjoyed keeping it from them as long as possible. Their cries of ‘why didn’t you tell us?’ all silenced when he’d said he wanted it to be a surprise.

He does what he needs to do, coming back to the house with several newly cut keys and key rings jangling in his pocket, heart skittering in his chest. He’s got enough keys for everyone, he just doesn’t know if Scott and Stiles will take them. He doesn’t know if he wants them to. Boyd, Erica and Isaac are more known to him, linked to him in a way that the bite gives. Scott is removed from him through Peter, although he knows there is a small part of Scott that recognises him as an alpha, even if it isn’t his alpha.

His nose twitches at the smell of chlorine when he opens the door and he stops, hand still on the door handle, the sight of disappearing flesh beneath a dry shirt making him pause. Of course they’ve gone swimming, and fuck, it’s like the fates are conspiring against him as well. He can hear them talking but doesn’t take it in, sees Isaac looking between him and Stiles and he can’t deal with this right now so he just turns on his heel and leaves.

“Dude, what is his problem?”

At least he has somewhere else he can sleep now.

\---

 

Camunki did [art for this](http://camunki.tumblr.com/post/40531482202/for-sunmontue-writes-this-is-a-comic-of-her)! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd because I don't want to harass my beta. Please let me know if you spot any typos or glaring errors. I did a read through and found several myself, but I never catch them all.

           He stands on the porch of the Stilinski house and wipes his hands on his jeans, feeling ridiculously nervous before gritting his teeth and knocking. Stiles is out with the others, and he knows the Sheriff is home, eating a greasy hamburger judging from the smell, which he knows Stiles wouldn’t approve of and he knocks before he can chicken out. Again.

       “Mr Hale. You are… at my front door. Can I help you?” He crosses his arms.

       “Ah, Sheriff Stilinski, yes, I need to tell you some things.”

       Despite looking as if the last thing he wants to do is invite him in he steps to the side, letting Derek step past him. He heads to the kitchen, so that the Sheriff can finish his lunch and he smirks slightly as the burger is slid to the side.

       “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Stiles.”

       “How well exactly do you know my son, to know that he watches what I eat?”

       That makes him snap his mouth shut, but it is why he’s here, to clear the air and tell him everything. It needs to be done.

       “Stiles has saved my life on more than one occasion. He’s a good person, he’s been keeping these secrets for us. Not because he wants to keep this from you, but because he’s loyal, and it’s not his secret to tell, but I can see how much it is eating him up inside to not be telling you the truth. To have to make up a cover story every time he’s helping us out…”

       “And what secrets is he keeping exactly?”

       “I know you’re not a stupid man Sheriff, I imagine you’ve probably been trying to piece everything together to try and figure out what Stiles has been… doing with his time.”

       “You honestly expect me to believe that you’re here to tell me everything?”

       “Yes.”

       The Sheriff makes a ‘go on then’ gesture with his hand, and the expression on his face is clearly one of disbelief and he freezes, he’s not sure whether to just say it, or show him.

       “You uh, better sit down…”

       “Son, look, I’m sure whatever you’re going to tell me isn’t going to shock me that much.”

       He nods, taking him at his word.

       “I’m a werewolf.” To back up the statement he transforms into his beta form, breathing in and out slowly to keep himself calm, and at least the Stilinski house smells familiar with the amount of time the pack spends here. The Sheriff doesn’t have a heart attack, despite Stiles insistence that that’s what would happen if he ever told his dad. Although he imagines if the sheriff finds out how many times Stiles has been close to death that might alter the status quo.

       “Well… my dog fighting ring theory wasn’t so off after all…”

       It’s quiet and muttered, and he probably wasn’t meant to hear it at all so he ignores it out of politeness sake and lets his features return to normal, feeling more relaxed. There’s been no reaching for a gun or anything that he would take as an attack, which is a positive sign.

       “So… you’re a werewolf. Right. But why would Stiles hang out with you? That just doesn’t make any sense…” He can tell he’s thinking aloud, can actually see him putting all the pieces together, now that he has werewolf as the central piece, hears his heart speed up but he can’t tell yet what’s causing it.

       “Is Stiles…?”

       “A werewolf?” He asks, and the Sheriff nods, eyes wide and worried. He shakes his head emphatically. “No, not Stiles.”

       “Then… Scott?” He nods sharply, although he suspects he doesn’t need any confirmation. “When?”

       He lets out a long breath, realizing that telling him that werewolves exist was actually the easy part.

       Now he just has to explain about everything else.

\---

       He’d not even been thinking of the mysterious moles that might lie under Stiles’ top when he’d made the suggestion, but he might as well have suggested a pizza covered in anchovies and olives given the way that Stiles is looking at him.

       “Look, the paint washes off your skin easier than it washes out of your clothes. Your choice.”

       “Dude! If I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to get us all half naked!”

       His fucking traitorous heart jumps at the suggestion, and he knows he’s fucked when Erica turns to him, eyes bright with sudden awareness and he knows, just knows that it’s going to cost him to keep her quiet. Isaac he knows will keep quiet, has been keeping quiet for a long time already and he feels bad for making him keep things from his friend.

       “I don’t know if you noticed Stiles, but you’re the only one who isn’t half naked,” Derek states, ignoring the leer that Erica is giving him. And okay, Erica and Lydia are wearing old bikini tops, but painting is hot work, and they’d all insisted on helping. The fact that Stiles is the only person who isn’t baring as much skin as everyone else occurs to him, and he wonders if Stiles has something to hide, or… is ashamed of his body for some reason?

       “Well, someone needs to maintain a sense of modesty.”

       “You? Modest? Pfft,” Jackson mocks, and he would have agreed before, but now he’s wondering whether all of Stiles’ bravado actually covers up some level of insecurity.

       He can understand that.

\---

\---

\---

       He feels decidedly uncomfortable when the invitation to attend Stiles’ birthday party is extended to him. Sure they’re friends, well, on friendly terms at least, but he still can’t bring himself to fully relax around all the others except when they’re all in the house. Going to a club though? He doesn’t even know how they’ll get in. He’s the only one among them who can legally drink, except for the fact that he doesn’t really, except when the sheriff offers him a beer occasionally when he stops around. That relationship has surprised him, but he likes having someone he can talk to, who offers useful advice, as opposed to Peter’s sly digs and confusing suggestions.

       He waits in line, the others chattering excitedly around him, and just the idea of the loud thumping music is enough to start a headache. He’s never liked loud places, less so now. He watches in shock as Lydia and Erica make out in front of the bouncer and are then unceremoniously waved in. He looks at Boyd and Jackson, neither of them look shocked, so either they were warned what the girls had planned or it’s happened before. He has an urge to ask if it’s a regular occurrence, but then again… no. He actually doesn’t want to know.

       They all flash their IDs, seeming pretty happy that the bouncer just waves them in, their fake IDs apparently having passed inspection. He’s pretty sure he’s the only one the catches the eye roll of the bouncer at their over exuberance and enthusiasm. He’s not carded, but he gets an eyebrow quirked at him when it becomes obvious that he is actually with them, and not just standing beside them by misfortune of just being in line with them.

       “Babysitting?” The bouncer asks, smirking, and he has to stop himself from snarling at him. He already feels bad enough about the six year age gap between himself and the people he interacts with the most; he doesn’t need other people pointing it out. He’s not an idiot.

       He’s on edge. Lydia has apparently dressed Stiles, and he’s wearing a too-tight top that has no sleeves. He’s counted seventeen new spots he’s never seen before and that was just with a quick glance. Stiles himself is bouncing on the balls of his feet and then he’s off to talk to a group of… women? Drag queens? Okay. He feels even more out of his depth, because he obviously missed the memo about coming to a gay club. Stiles looks like he’s in his element though, laughing and flirting…

       Paying close attention, cutting out interfering noise, he can hear that Stiles is definitely flirting. And he’s being flirted with in return. He clenches his fists and stalks up to the bar. He needs a drink, only because he has to do something with his hands before he does something stupid. The urge fades when he senses Stiles bounce up to his side, and seriously, he’s like an excited little puppy.

       “Dude! Can you get me a coke?”

       “Just a coke?” He’s surprised, he fully expected Stiles to use him to get alcohol. And Stiles could get himself a coke. He’s not sure why he’s asking exactly, but he adds it to his order and the bar tender just nods.

       “Yep! Still early, and the caffeine will be enough for now! Anyway, Charlene is buying me shots later. Got to stay hydrated!”

       He gives in and just nods helplessly, because Stiles is just a force in his own right. He gets some of the more commiserating looks from the sheriff now, because he’s probably stuck with him for life. He finds he doesn’t actually mind the thought of that though. Huh.

       It’s hot already in the club, and he’s definitely not dancing. He doesn’t dance. Instead he just watches, and every so often Stiles bounces over, tells him to stop looking so creepy and bounces away again. He should leave, he really should, he’s not really enjoying himself and he knows he’s not adding to anyone else’s enjoyment by being here. However watching them actually all act like teenagers, relaxed and moving on the dance floor like they’re normal is… nice. He doesn’t want to ruin that for them.

       “I completely get why Stiles calls you Sourwolf now, you could look like this isn’t some form of newly devised torture you know,” Erica says, and he knows she’d have to yell if they were both human, the way Stiles is screaming at everyone to be heard.

       “I think it’s a matter of perspective,” he mutters.

       “You could just tell him you know. Put us all out of our misery.”

       “What do you mean?”

       “Just that it’s pretty painful watching two guys, who are so obviously hard for each other, be such fucking idiots. Painful. Seriously. You need to do something about it because there’s no way Stiles is going to make the first move. He’s all talk but no actual acting on it…”

       She sounds like she’s serious and he looks across to where Stiles is sitting and he gets a cheery wave. He frowns and Stiles’ hand drops.

       “I don’t think so.”

       Erica rolls her eyes at him and then smiles, the calculating sneaky smile which he’s come to hate, because it means she’s planning something. He doesn’t know if he should stay and wait to see what it is, or make his escape now. He glances at the door and then back at Stiles, who is talking to Erica. He glances toward the door again and it looks like there is a completely clear path to it. He glances back at Stiles, because he guesses he should probably say goodbye at least, it is the guys’ birthday party after all but stops dead in his tracks.

       Stiles is pulling his shirt off over his head.

       Shirt.

       Gone.

       Chest.

       Bare.

       Something he’s been trying to achieve for months, (admittedly not trying very hard), and there he is. He isn’t the only one who has noticed, there are several people whistling and he wonders if he’s imagining the blush on Stiles’ cheeks. And chest.

       Fuck.

       He has caramel colored nipples, and he can see several more moles and his fingers itch to just trace over them, draw imaginary pictures using the dots as guides and… he’s staring. He knows, because Erica has glanced over her shoulder to make sure he’s watching and is now licking Stiles’ chest. Just a single small stripe but he isn’t aware he’s even grinding his teeth until he hears it, feels it, vibrating up through his ear canal and making his skin itch.

       He has no claim on Stiles — who is now laughing, a hysterical edge to it, looking frantically around as if he wants someone to save him from Erica’s clutches. He’s got enough control to not just stalk over there and rip everyone else away from him, he didn’t even really think he wanted to lay a claim. Instead he just growls low under his breath, annoyed, and aware that every wolf here will not only be able to hear the growl, but sense his annoyance.

       Instead of taking the clear path to the door, which almost seems to mock him with how clear it has remained and how easy it would actually be to just leave he instead stalks across the crowded room to where Stiles is standing, looking equal parts horrified and well… horrified. Stiles is looking between him and Erica frantically, arms waving madly and he’s babbling so fast he can’t even make out every third word.


	3. Chapter 3

           “Stiles, put your shirt back on.” God he’s an idiot. Months of wanting to see him without a shirt and he’s now telling him to put it back on. And some previously unknown chivalrous part in his brain is refusing to glance down and categorize the moles that are suddenly clearly on display. Probably because he wants to touch them, and here and now is really not the place for that sudden realization.

       “What? Uh… yeah. Okay. I mean, I know I’m not exactly up to your level of buff-ness dude, but I thought maybe you could give me a break on my birthday. But whatever…”

       It’s takes him a second to register what the words mean, and he’s still cursing the part of him that means he’s missed partially naked Stiles, and when exactly did he want a completely naked Stiles? A Stiles that is now completely clothed again, making him remember the first time he paid attention to the action of Stiles pulling his shirt hem back into place. It’s what started all this mess.

       “Wait. What?” He asks, attention snapping back to what Stiles had actually said.

       “Oh my god, seriously. If I could bang your heads together I would,” Erica says, but quietly so he knows she only means it for him. And maybe the other wolves who he can tell have moved a bit closer.

       “Nothing dude, just… I get it.”

       “You really really don’t,” Erica says, louder now, and Stiles is poking his tongue out at her, and she’s poking hers back, and there’s just too much tongue in his vicinity and the sheer childishness of the act has him growling again. He shouldn’t be this on edge. For everyone’s sake he really needs to remove himself from the situation, leave them to have a good time. Decided he turns, and of fucking course the path to the door is now blocked with what he’s sure is every single body in the club and he just ploughs through it, glaring at anyone who dares to object to him bumping into him.

       Of course Stiles follows him. The last thing he wants or needs right now, but he can hear him saying ‘sorry! Oops! Sorry! Uh, my friend over there will buy you a new drink! Sorry! Sorry!’ as he bumps his way through the crowd, knocking into what sounds like everyone and apologizing each time. He hurries toward his car, knowing he won’t make it out of the parking lot if he doesn’t run, but he refuses to run from Stiles, he’s not scared. He isn’t.

       “Wait! Look man, I get that you barely tolerate me, but your girlfriend licked me first. You have a problem with that you bring it up with her!”

       That has him stopping and turning, bracing a hand against the roof of his car. Stiles actually sounds legitimately angry, and for once not even scared in the slightest, which is… nice. Wait. He’s not sure what part of Stiles declaration he wants to correct first.

       “I – girlfriend?”

       “Erica? You know when you suddenly decided to stop holding up the wall and come over and declare ownership of whatever the fuck that was… I don’t get it. I’m pretty sure Erica was baiting you because you don’t pay her enough attention…”

       “I – what?” He sometimes struggles to stay up to speed with what Stiles is talking about, but this time he hears everything but understands nothing. “Erica is not my girlfriend.”

       “Could have fooled me, the way you were glaring at me. I told you, she licked me, I didn’t lick her.”

       His brain fizzes a little at the idea of Stiles licking anything, (especially him) and he feels like hitting his head on the roof of his car. That would dent it though, and it only just got out of the shop, so he settles with just resting his forehead on the cool metal and groaning in frustration. He’s starting to get what Erica might have meant. Or rather, definitely meant. Apparently he’s an idiot.

       “You’re an idiot,” he says out loud and Stiles looks at him, all hurt and no, he didn’t want to make him look like that. He’s had enough of Stiles looking all hurt at the cause of him and has been consciously trying to not make him look like that. Trying to not make any of them look like that. Sure he still fucks up sometimes, but he’s trying.

       “Don’t worry, I’m an idiot as well…” Derek mutters under his breath, not even sure if he’s said it loud enough for Stiles to hear him.

       “I, yeah, well, sometimes you are man. Like, a massive idiot. But what have you done this time?”

       “It’s what I haven’t done. Apparently. Erica is not my girlfriend. I am not interested in… her.” It would be a lie if he said he wasn’t interested in any of his pack mates, because a part of him definitely considers Stiles a part of his slightly dysfunctional pack, but at least there is no part of Stiles that demands he submit to the alpha in Derek.

       “Wait, if you’re not with Erica why were you staring at me like I was being all adulterous or something? Because I’ve got to admit, being licked by her was kind of nice, a repeatable occurrence kind of thing… I’d even go so far as to say enjoyable if you hadn’t been there glaring at me like I was doing something heinously wrong…”

       He stares, wonders if he’ll really need to spell it out. Being around teenagers is apparently contagious; he’s lost the rational urge to talk and just wants to die of embarrassment. Or… he just reaches out and pulls Stiles to him. Acting on his instincts is always an option too.

\--- 

       “It wasn’t you doing anything wrong. Erica… knew she would get a reaction from me.”

       “What? But why?”

       He almost tells him he’s an idiot again, but instead he covers Stiles’ mouth with his own, which is difficult, given Stiles mouth is wide open, either in shock or halfway to say something else. He draws back a little, places tiny little nipping kisses at the edge of his mouth instead, waiting for Stiles’ brain to play-catch up. He knows the moment it does, because he feels Stiles stiffen, arms flailing mildly, brushing over his arms and then skittering away as if he isn’t sure he can touch.

       His own hands are on Stiles’ hips, and he tugs him sharply, bringing their bodies even tighter together. He hasn’t stopped the tiny kisses, making a path over Stiles’ cheek, paying extra attention to the little brown spots, moving to his ear. He’s trapped one of Stiles’ hands between their bodies, and he can feel it squirming, trying to get free before Stiles just… relents and presses his hand against his chest. He can also feel the rapid beating of Stiles’ heart against his chest, and he doesn’t need his superior hearing to hear Stiles muttering.

       “I, uh, not that I’m, um, complaining, but, um, is this just, uh, a birthday thing, or like, something that might be…”

       In the past he would have told Stiles to shut up, when hearing him talk so much exasperated him. Now though he likes the way his breath catches on every second or third word, the way his body is vibrating with barely contained energy, and he just wants to tell him to let go. He shuffles his feet, turning them both gradually. He could lift Stiles bodily, but he already feels like he’s teetering on the edge of freaking out so he doesn’t want to push him too much. Once he’s turned them, something he doesn’t think Stiles has even noticed, with him nibbling and licking at his neck, he pushes. Of course Stiles seems to think he’s going to fall, leg kicking out a bit, but then he must feel it, but solidness of the car behind him.

       “What is this?” Stiles asks, and his head is thrown back, the question put to the starry sky above them and he works one of his knees between Stiles’, denim rubbing against denim, and he tilts his hips forward, enjoying the friction against his cock. He’s not going to think about the age difference, or the fact they’re in the parking lot outside a bar, or anything that might make him stop exactly what he is doing right now. There’s time enough for self-recrimination later.

       “It’s whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want…” he murmurs against Stiles’ ear, and he grinds them together, just a hint of what he wants, because he means it, he’ll get on his knees right now if that’s what Stiles wants.

       “Erica is, uh, a genius. Mmm. Yes, yes she is. Whatever she gave me… whoa.”

       “Erica didn’t give you anything, and all you’ve had to drink is a coke.”

       “Whatever man. This, oh fuck, don’t stop that, yeah, this can’t actually be real…”

       He growls, because he doesn’t get why Stiles might think this isn’t real.

       “Stiles, it’s real.”

       “Pfft. Only in my fantasies dude. Come on. I told you not to stop.”

       How they’ve suddenly morphed into one of Stiles’ fantasies is a question for later, because Stiles is pressing back. He’s almost straddling his thigh, rutting against him frantically, eyes tightly screwed shut, teeth chewing brutally on his bottom lip and that’s his job. He shifts slightly, moving his hands from Stiles’ ass to bring one to his front. He moves the other up under the too-tight t-shirt, and the feeling of a tiny-bump under his fingertips makes him groan.   Fucking moles.

       He covers Stiles mouth with his again, and this time he gets an enthusiastic response, lips parting, tongue meeting his and Stiles has both hands on his ass, pulling him closer, despite the fact that he can barely move his hand between them.

       “Just, give me a little room,” Derek says, because he would really like to touch. Just through his jeans for now, and he’s pretty sure that’s all Stiles wants. Needs. He has to twist his arm a little to palm Stiles’ cock, but the hands on his ass tighten convulsively and he’s being bitten, Stiles moaning into his mouth and he moves his hand as fast as he can, restricted by the odd angle. He can feel Stiles’ body start to tremble, hopefully close and he kisses him passionately before pulling back.

       “This isn’t a fantasy, you’re not dreaming… and you’re about to come in your pants against my car in the parking lot outside Jungle.”

       Stiles eyes fly open to stare at him, and then, then, he sees it reflected in his eyes. Flashing red and blue. Stiles doesn’t seem to notice or care, thrusting a couple more times before groaning lowly and he can tell he’s come, the smell and the blissed out expression, but he’s too focused on the deputy (please god let it be a deputy) getting out of the patrol car. He turns his head to chance a quick look. Fuck. Of course he’s not that lucky. It’s the Sheriff. Stiles’ dad. He’s not sure which title is worse right now, and the fact that they belong to the one person makes him very aware of his situation right now and he can hear the man walking toward them and now Stiles lifts his head and is looking over Derek’s shoulder.

       “Mmm… Derek, why is my Dad in my fantasy?”

       Fuck.


	4. Chapter 4

        “Oh shit. It’s not a fantasy.”

       “Nope.”

       Stiles jumps, stumbles, grimaces and is saved from falling to the ground only because he slides down part of the Camaro and rights himself just in time. He’s looking wildly between his dad, Derek and his crotch and Jesus Christ, could the world open up and swallow him now please? Stiles looks like he’s feeling the same way and he really can’t blame him.

       “Stiles. You’re here. Again.”

       “I said I could be gay! But I’m not. But I’m not… uh, completely straight either?” His eyes fly wildly to Derek, as if he wants him to help by saying something, but he knows that anything he says right now will not help. At all. So he keeps his mouth shut, turns and faces the Sheriff and hopes he’s not going to be arrested. Again.

       “Mr. Hale.” So not a good sign. He nods back and smiles tightly.

       “Sheriff.”

       “Have you been drinking?”

       The look the Sheriff gives him clearly says ‘if you’ve been buying my son alcohol I will book you...’ but Stiles is already shaking his head and he’s pretty sure the question was aimed at both of them.

       “No! Not drinking! Definitely not drinking. Well. Coke. Does coke count? Not alcohol. No underage drinking going on here. And I mean coke the drink, not the drug. No drugs here either!”

       He holds back his eye roll but notices that the Sheriff doesn’t, hears his quiet huff of exasperation and has to stop himself from smiling. That wouldn’t go down so well right now. The Sheriff steps forward, hand going to the back of Stiles’ neck and drawing him into a stiff march.

       “Stiles. Walk with me.” It’s not an invitation.

       He watches as the Stilinskis wander a few yards away and he frowns. The sheriff knows he has good hearing, excellent hearing, and he’s not nearly gone far enough to ensure he can’t hear them. And he can  hear them, every single word. The Sheriff glances over his shoulder and he catches the quick glance and fuck, he’s meant to hear what is about to be said.

       “Son, are you… involved with Derek Hale?”

       “Ah… define involved? Because uh, I really don’t know what’s happening.”

       “Well, sure looks like you’re involved. With something.”

       “Yeah… um. About what you saw… it wasn’t what it looked like.”

       “Stiles… I don’t want to think about what it looked like. And I don’t want to hear what you think it looked like.”

       “Heimlich maneuver?”

       “Really Stiles?”

       He just imagine the look on both their faces right now and he feels a little hysterical, wondering what he’s got himself involved in. And he’s the one who’s a fucking werewolf. He hears the sheriff let out a long sigh.

       “Stiles, you’re… look. You’re old enough to make your own decisions, be responsible and face the consequences of those decisions… just don’t be stupid.”

       “Uh.”

       “Okay, try not to be stupid.”

       “And Derek is… not stupid?”

       The sheriff sighs again.       

       “I don’t mind Derek. Now.”

       “You don’t think Derek is too…”

       Too old? Damaged? A bad influence? All of the above? he thinks.

       “Dangerous?” Stiles asks.

       “Son, I know exactly how dangerous Derek Hale is. You’re fine with him.”

       He pulls a face at that. He’s not a de-clawed kitten. He’s plenty dangerous. Although it’s clear from Stiles mumbling and gasping sounds that the Sheriff hasn’t actually told Stiles that he knows. He has no idea why, but he can tell Stiles is wanting to object, tell his father that he’s plenty dangerous, because he’s a werewolf. Although it would be counterproductive.

       “Fine? Uh… What? Really? Is this like your blessing or something, because that is really weird.”

       “You’re telling me. Now. I’m going to plead ignorance, you keep everything north and above the border when I’m around and I can just… pretend. Okay?”

       “Wait. Are you, are you… you’re actually giving me permission to bone Derek?”

       “Stiles.”

       “Uh, I mean, go on dates and do completely platonic things like, um, uh… crap. You know. Things that I can’t think of right now.”

       He’s sure his quiet groan of despair matches the one the sheriff is making.

       “Just – go.”

       Stiles gives his dad a mock salute and skids on the loose gravel of the ground in his hurry to make his way back to Derek. The sheriff hasn’t moved, is watching them both intensely and he meets his eyes.

       “You… I’m trusting you with him.”

       The sheriff is whispering, but he can still hear them clearly. They’re much more powerful than an empty threat or asking for a promise. Just the responsibility of another life, which he already takes seriously. Of many lives. He nods in understanding, because no matter how bad other people might make him feel; if someone he cares about gets hurt, it’s nowhere as bad as the guilt and blame he puts on himself.

\---

       He closes in on himself with that realization. He already cares about Stiles. Cares about all of them. Getting in deeper, starting something with him, with anyone, allowing himself to care about them, means a potential degree of hurt that he knows he doesn’t want to go through that. Not again. Stiles is walking to him, bouncing every third step in an almost skipping gait and he feels the warring wants tearing at him. He wants Stiles. Didn’t let himself really process that before tonight, just let himself think it was just a fixation on his marked skin. However he also wants Stiles to be safe. And people aren’t safe with him.

       “So, did you hear that? My dad said I’m responsible!”

       “No, he said you were old enough to be responsible. There’s a difference,” he replies, already pulling away, trying to ignore the immediate falling expression on Stiles’ face. This is for his own good. For both of them. Even if the Sheriff has apparently lost all sense… although maybe he figures it’s better the devil he know? He shakes his head and pulls back further, opening his car and sliding in, needing to put more distance between them before he wipes the sad confused frown off Stiles’ face.

       “I’m heading home. Happy Birthday.”

       He feels like shit as he drives away, glancing up to the rear view mirror to see Stiles standing and watching him. He has to fight the urge to just turn and go back to him and when he finally pulls up outside the house he bangs his head on the steering wheel a couple of times, feeling like an idiot but knowing no-one can see him.

       He can’t settle on anything, nothing feels right and he definitely can’t sleep. His arousal from earlier is still sitting a close hum just beneath the surface of his skin and he knows it wouldn’t take much to have in burning through him again. He needs to get rid of the surplus energy, and he feels like he’s almost caught the energy from Stiles somehow. He works out, but it isn’t enough, even though he pushes himself, sweat dripping down his back. Then he runs, does the perimeter of the preserve twice before he even starts to feel like he could sleep. He falls into his bed finally, the run back to the house finally tiring him, and he doesn’t even have the energy to undress.

       He goes downstairs the next morning and he knows he smells, doesn’t need Isaac wrinkling his nose at him to know it, but he needs coffee. Even if, like alcohol, it has no effect unless it’s at least a triple shot espresso. At least some caffeine will help him and he could smell the coffee machine working before he even got out of bed.

       “Are you… okay?” Isaac asks, eyes watching him with concern. It’s taken months of effort to make Isaac approach him with his head raised, to not be afraid of Derek’s every single movement. He counts it as a success that Isaac is no longer afraid of everything. It feels like he’s done something right for once.

       “Yeah. Just tired. Ran last night.”

       “Hmm. Yeah, I can tell.”

       He pulls a face at him and accepts the mug of coffee, made exactly how he likes it, taking a long drink just to have something to do. He knows that look, the one where Isaac wants to talk about something but is afraid of how Derek will react. He has a pretty good idea of what he wants to talk about too and is in no hurry for the conversation.

       “So… last night.”

       He grunts and wonders whether he could just leave. It wouldn’t exactly be the mature move, but he would at least delay this for a little while longer.

       “He’s… hurt.”

       “He’ll get over it.”

       “Um. You think so? He seemed… pretty angry actually.”

       He nods, because he can accept that. Stiles angry at him for whatever reason is pretty normal. Or was normal up until a few months ago. Since then there have just been brief flashes of anger-annoyance mixed in with his other jumbled emotions. He rubs his face and turns to leave. There’s nothing he can say in his defense. Nothing that makes sense.

       “I know you like him,” Isaac states, stopping him.

       “It’s not that simple. It’s complicated.”

       “Only because you’re making it that way. And because you’re an idiot.”

       He’s been talking to Erica. Fuck.

       “I don’t want him to get hurt.” I don’t want to get hurt.

       “He’s already hurt. You can fix that.”

       “It’s really not that simple.”

       “Uh, yeah it is. Look.  It’ll hurt anyway. Why not make him and you happy in the meantime?”

       “That’s a really pessimistic way of looking at things.”

       Isaac shrugs and leans against the bench, taking a long drink of his own coffee before letting out a long sigh.

       “Look man, I don’t want to tell you what to do, but unless you’re planning on becoming a real life hermit then hurt… it’s going to happen.”

       “I meant physically hurt.”

       “Well, right now he’s emotionally hurt and that’s far worse. He can heal physical pain himself.”

       “He might get killed hanging out with us.”

       “You think he’s going to stop hanging out with us? Well, actually, after your performance last night he might actually. Was that your plan?”

       “No. No. I didn’t have a plan. Erica…”

       “Oh. Yeah.” Isaac sniggers into his mug and he rolls his eyes. He’s pretty sure his Betas aren’t meant to talk to him like this, although thinking about it he always argued with Laura, so maybe there is something to it. It definitely feels better than just yelling at them and ordering them around. “So, you hurt him anyway. Badly I think. You need to fix that. Otherwise he’s probably not going to come back.”

       “Maybe that’s for the best.”

       Isaac rolls his eyes at him and he feels his lips curl in indignation. People aren’t meant to roll their eyes at him! He does all the condescending around here…

       “Yeah, no. Definitely not for the best. You want me to call a meeting so we can all brow beat you into at least apologizing to him? Because I will. Well, I’ll get Erica to help.”

       They’d do it to. He rubs his face again, it’s really too early for all this shit, but Isaac hasn’t finished. Has continued talking and it’s like a dam has broken. He’s hearing about how Stiles is pack. That he could be hit by a bus and die any day now. How he’s wasting time. He waves a hand at him, trying to get him to shut up.

       “Fine fine… I’ll go and apologize.”

       He’s making no promises about anything else though.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the gap in updates. Been a hellish week.

           Fucking mountain ash.

       He glares at the Stilinski house and curses the day Alan Deaton introduced Stiles to otherworldly power. It feels wrong, not being able to reach him, as it would if it were any member of his pack. He’s walked the perimeter once, knowing there would be no gaps, but wondering just how close Stiles had made it. He’s wondering if it creates a protective sphere, whether he could possibly dig under it…

       “Mr. Hale. Are you prowling around my house for a reason?”

       “I…” He has no idea if he should say yes or no. And it’s back to Mr. Hale. Like last night, after quite a few weeks of being addressed as Derek he’s back to being called Mr. Hale. “Yes?” He asks, but he really doesn’t know if that’s the right answer. The way the sheriff is looking at him he’s pretty sure it’s not the right answer.

       “Are you going to share that reason with me?”

       “Uh… I… want to apologize.”

       “Already? Jesus Christ…” The level of sheer disbelief in his tone is embarrassing and he fights the urge to scuff his foot. “Go on then, go and apologize. I’m going to work.”

       “Wait. I can’t…”

       “Loo, Derek, I get the apologizing isn’t the easiest thing to do, but I’ll tell you something, if you know you need to apologize then he knows just as much that he deserves that apology. He was definitely pretty angry last night.”

       He winces, remembering what the Sheriff had said, and how happy Stiles had looked for that brief moment before he’d pulled away.

       “No, I – Well, yes. But I mean – Stiles has put a… protective circle around the house.”

       “He can do that?” The Sheriff looks ridiculously pleased and he glares up at the house where he knows Stiles has got to be watching.

       “Yes. And I can’t pass. Can you tell Stiles –”        

       “Oh no! No no no. I’m not getting caught up in this. Any more than I already am. And I am definitely not playing messenger. You boys got yourselves in this mess, you get yourselves out.”

       “I can’t cross over.”

       “You have a phone don’t you?”

       “Oh…”

       “Christ. It’s only the first twelve hours,” he mutters as he walks away.

       He looks toward the house and while he can’t see anyone, he can definitely hear Stiles inside, not only his heart, but his under-the-breath muttering and the odd banging sound. Like he’s maybe kicking something. And swearing about hurting himself. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and turns it on. He doesn’t use it very often, doesn’t like the chance of it giving away his position with an ill-timed ring when he’s trying to be quiet.

       He rings Stiles number and sighs when it goes directly to voice mail. He rings again. Gets the same treatment. He tries several times before giving up and ringing directory. He asks for the Stilinski home number, only to find out it’s unlisted and won’t be given out. He sighs and against his better judgment asks for the number for the police station. He gets put through to the Sheriff eventually and simply asks for the home number.

       “He won’t answer his phone huh?”

       “Nope.”

       “Yeah. Thought that might happen.” Of course he did, and he sounds a little too happy about it, although he gives Derek the number and he recites it over and over in his head as he says goodbye. He enters the new number into his phone under Stiles’ contact details and then rings it.

       “Hello?”

       Hearing him actually answer freezes him for a brief second.

       “Stiles –”

       And he’s hung up on. He sighs and rings back. Of course it keeps ringing until it goes to an answer machine and it’s… a female voice, soft and pleasant asking him to leave his name. It must be Stiles’ mom. He rings back again. And again. Stiles doesn’t answer but he’s not going to give up. He listens to her voice a few times, always hanging up just before the final beep. He can hear the phone ringing inside the house, and then the music starts up, loud, drowning out the phone and he sighs. Doesn’t give up though. He’s stubborn. More stubborn than Stiles and he’s not going to let him win this round. He sets his phone for autodial and settles back against his car. He can wait Stiles out.

       An hour slips past and he shifts, wondering how much longer Stiles will hold out. At least tomorrow he has to leave to go to school, and the Sheriff seems to think they need to sort this out on their own. It’s weird to have someone already in his corner. The clunkity-clunk of a car approaching is not recognizable, but he can smell the approaching pizza. He grins slowly as the car pulls up outside the house and a guy gets out holding a pizza box.

       “Hey man, that the pizza for Stilinski?”

       “Yep, that’ll be twelve dollars.”

       “Thanks,” Derek says, shoving a twenty into the guys hand and muttering about him keeping the change. The guy thanks him profusely before driving away. He opens the lid of the box and is hit with the wafting smell of melted cheese, roasted salty meats and tomatoes and the tang of barbecue. He leans against his car again, placing the box on the hood in clear sight of the house. It’s chilly, but he has a hot pizza to warm him up. He grins and shoots off a text message.

       Your pizza is tasty. Thanks.

       As he suspected it gets a response within seconds, he can hear the thundering of steps toward the front door and then the door being pulled open.

       “Pizza thief! That’s mine!”

       “Well, you didn’t pay for it, so technically it’s mine.”

       Stiles looks outraged, and he isn’t surprised when he turns abruptly and slams the door. He grins and takes a bite and he’s pretty sure Stiles kicks the front door. Of course there’s another pizza delivery in less than thirty minutes, and he takes that one too, although he can’t eat it, already two pieces lie abandoned in the pizza box from before. Stiles is standing on the porch this time, money clenched in his fist waving it fruitlessly at the delivery guy as he drives away.

       “No! That is my pizza! You don’t get to steal my pizza again!”

       “Come here and get it,” Derek offers, and watches as Stiles stomps down the steps, eyes narrowed on him, and fuck he’s hot like this. He shakes the thought away. He’s here to apologize. That’s all. He doesn’t really get a chance, too fast Stiles has snatched the box from his hand, turns sharply. Is already stepping away before Derek remembers that he’s right on the edge of the ring of mountain ash and grabs Stiles’ arm, forcing him to turn back.

       “I want—”

       “No. This might come as a shock to you Derek but I don’t care what you want. Last night… you just…” Stiles waves his hands in the air, pizza box rising and falling with the movements and he knows it won’t survive that.

       “I’m sorry –” he starts, but knows it’s probably pointless.

       “No! I’m not finished! I’m not a fucking toy you can only decide to play with when someone else wants to play with me! It doesn’t work that way! It doesn’t!”

       “I know it doesn’t.”

       “No you don’t! Fuck you Derek! I was having a good time last night and you ruined it!” He opens his mouth to say sorry again but stops at the raised hand in his face. “I get that it was just a moment for you, a moment of… whatever. Insanity. I get that. I knew it was too goo to be true, that I had to be dreaming or something, but you just went a long with it! That was a dick move man!”

       He doesn’t even know what to say to that, because he knows that if the Sheriff hadn’t turned up when he did he probably would have taken Stiles home, although that’s something Stiles clearly doesn’t think would be in the realm of possibility. He’s been so all over the place in the last few hours he’s not sure what to say. Stiles has stepped away, beyond his reach almost immediately due to the mountain ash and he growls quietly before noticing the cruiser pulling into the drive.

       “Derek. Stiles. Two disturbances of the peace in twenty-four hours? Really boys?”

       Stiles looks like he’s going to argue, but Derek just shrugs helplessly. He’s come to accept that disturbances to the peace (his peace mainly) come hand-in-hand with knowing Stiles.

       “He stole my pizza!” Stiles accuses.

       Derek shrugs.

       “He wouldn’t talk to me.”

       Stiles looks mutinous, the Sheriff just looks exasperated. At both of them.

       “That protective circle thing still working huh?”

       “It’ll work until he breaks it.”

       Stiles is now looking between him and his father and he looks pissed. Even angrier, if that’s even possible.

       “He knows?!”

       Oh crap.

\---

\---

\---

       They stand there and watch Stiles storm back into the house, and he can hear him still yelling as he slams the door and he squints at the windows, wondering if he’s being glared at from inside the house. Probably.

       “Huh. Right. So now he’s angry at both of us. Any of that pizza left?”

       “Uh, sure.”

       He passes the almost empty box to him, guessing with Stiles already so angry he might as well make the most of it and gorge on junk food. He’s pretty sure giving the Sheriff pizza won’t earn him any good points with Stiles, but he’s so far in deficit he can’t actually see a way out right now.

       “I know I said I wasn’t going to get involved, but seeing as I was brought here as part of my job to not only check out suspicious loitering,” he eyes Derek meaningfully at that, “but also what appeared to be a domestic… what happened last night exactly?” His cheeks flame red and he shakes his head. “Not details!” The Sheriff quickly corrects, looking equally embarrassed and they both avoid looking at each other for a few quiet moments.

       “I don’t want him getting hurt.”

       “Good. I don’t want him to get hurt either.”

       “But – you… I won’t be good for him.”

       He’s not going to pretend he didn’t hear the Sheriff last night, what he said about him and Stiles starting… something. Even if he didn’t realize it himself until last night, the Sheriff obviously finds him easy enough to read. Stiles as well.

       “Why do you think that?”

       “I… don’t have a good history.”

       The Sheriff hums and he wonders if he knows about Kate. He wouldn’t be surprised, because he’s a smart man, although the idea of someone else being privy to his teenage stupidity doesn’t exactly thrill him.

       “And what? That makes you reckless?” He shakes his head. “Look Derek, I love my son, and since you told me the truth about all this… stuff, I know I can’t fully protect him. I will always want to, but kids grow up and leave and you have to trust that you’ve done a good enough job.”

       His throat works, because he hates the idea of Stiles leaving, any of them leaving, and he knows then that he’s far more emotionally vested than he thought.

       “I can only try to protect him, and he might still get hurt…” He wants to add that he’s talking about emotionally hurt, like how Stiles is feeling now, but keeps quiet. The Sheriff doesn’t need to know how much of a jackass he was last night.

       “You think I could protect him from everything? No. No one can do that. We can only try. I’m not asking you to promise me he’ll never get hurt, because this is Stiles, and he gets hurt walking to the bathroom. Bottom line? You care about him. That’s all I care about.”

       He keeps quiet, not really sure what he can say in the light of that, but he really doesn’t understand his logic. There will be other people that will care about Stiles.

       “Now, tell me about this circle, does it keep out all werewolves, or just you?”

       “All. Plus I think Stiles has set wards on your house. Protective ones that simply keep out people that mean harm.”

       “He’s… got magic?” He asks around a mouthful of pizza, looking toward the house, expression suddenly wary.

       “He has the talent to access it, yes.”

       “You didn’t mention this before.”

       “I thought Stiles would like to tell you himself. Why didn’t you tell him you knew?”

       “I was waiting for him to tell me.”

       “I told you, he thinks it isn’t his secret to tell.”

       “I figured you would tell him it would be okay to tell me,” the Sheriff muses, giving him a meaningful look.

       “Oh.”

       “Jesus, you two need translators.” He scratches his head, feeling a bit stupid in hindsight. The Sheriff might be right. “I can’t force him to talk to you, but I have to say stealing his pizza probably wasn’t the smartest move if he was already angry with you. Getting between Stiles and food is… dangerous. He’ll fight you for it.”

       “Yeah. I know.” Silence falls between them, and the Sheriff shifts, looking like he’s preparing to leave and he reaches for his arm. “I know you said you weren’t going to get involved – ” he stops. He wants to ask for help, because for once he seems to have someone on his side, even if it makes him feel suspicious and a little paranoid about their ulterior motives.

       “Bit late for that don’t you think?”

       “Yeah. Probably.”

       They both stare at the house, see the door open and Stiles stand there with his hands on his hips.

       “Dad! I see you eating that pizza! Don’t think I don’t see you!”

       The sheriff doesn’t say anything, simply raises his hand in acknowledgement and goes on eating. Stiles slams the door again.

       “He’ll be angry at you for aiding and abetting my bad eating habits…”

       He sighs, because in the grand scheme of things, deserting Stiles last night, not telling him he’d told his dad the truth… letting the Sheriff eat pizza? A drop in the bucket. The ocean.

       “So, if I make a gesture like telling him to have a cookout tonight, to invite Scott and the others, with the guise of getting to know them better… he’d have to break the circle?”

       He looks to the side and nods slowly.

       “Right then. I guess that’s what I’ll do. Don’t muck it up again hmm?”

       “I’ll try sir.”

       “You can call me James. Or Jim.”

       “Uh –”

       “For no other reason than to screw with Stiles just a little bit, okay?”

       He’s grinning and Derek nods slowly, because seriously? What has he got himself into?


	6. Chapter 6

           He leaves at the same time as the Sheriff. James. Jim. He knows Stiles isn’t going to let him in anytime soon, although he doesn’t know if he’s invited to the cookout tonight. Was it implied? Or just that he should come and talk to Stiles because he wouldn’t be able to keep him away? No. He should go. Right. He goes home to find Isaac sitting in front of the TV. The same TV he hadn’t wanted to get but had been unable to say no to. Isaac has him twisted around his little finger, and he knows it.

       He shuffles around the house, doing mundane things like laundry, hears Isaac phone beep with incoming texts and wonders if he should do anything about the layers of dust that have settled around the house before deciding that it’s done nothing to him so leaves it where it is. He forces Isaac out of the house for a run under the premise of getting him away from the TV, but he really just doesn’t want to run alone. Isaac is good company, talkative but balanced with the occasional quiet introspection.

       When he leaves later with an ‘I’ll be out for dinner!’ called out over his shoulder he knows exactly where he is going, that Stiles has probably made him promise not to mention anything to him. But he has an invitation. Or a directive. Something. He doesn’t wait much longer before locking up and leaving, he wants to go to the store first anyway.

       He can hear them before he’s even stopped his car, laughing in the backyard and he moves softly, hoping they’re too distracted to hear his approach. He’s been working with them to recognize different sounds, both familiar and unfamiliar, and times like this he kind of regrets it. The low squeak of the porch step sounds brutally loud in his ears and he knows he’s more nervous than he should be. Knocking on the door he waits and he knows it’s Stiles even before the door opens and he’s ready, ready to say sorry again, but he doesn’t even manage to get that out.

       “Derek…” Stiles looks poleaxed. “What, you, you’re not… what are you doing here?”

       “I invited him. Come on, move yourself, let the boy pass. Derek, come on in.”

       “Uh, Hi Jim.”

       He sees Stiles mouth ‘Jim?’ silently, eyes wide as he looks between them before backing away slowly, before turning and running. Jim chuckles quietly.

       “Told you it would screw with him.”

       He’s not sure what to do with that, whether he should now go back to calling him sir again, so instead he just holds out the shopping bag containing the extra food, because he knows there’s never such a thing as too much food with teenagers. Or werewolves. He feels out of place, in someone else’s home but surrounded by pack. It’s odd. He’s fine with the Stilinski home, and he’s fine with his pack, but combined the two have him a little on edge. Plus Scott is frowning at him like he’s done something wrong, and he knows he has, but having everyone knowing and giving him disapproving looks really isn’t helping.

       “Hey, Mr Stilinski, can my mom come over? I mean, she’d probably like to get to know everyone involved with this, uh, werewolf stuff as well. And she wouldn’t be the only old person here.”

       The look on the Sheriff’s face at being called old is one caught between disbelief and amusement before it turns to realization.

       “Wait, your mom knows? And don’t call us old. We’re not old.”

       “Yeah. Okay. She was freaked out to start with as well.”

       “That would have been good to know…” Jim says dryly, shooting him a meaningful look and he winces. Of course he hadn’t thought about that at the time, that having someone else to talk to would have been… nice? Jim tells Scott sure, then pats Derek on the arm. “Don’t worry about it Derek, you can’t think of everything. Beer?”

       “No thanks.”

       “You don’t have to be all careful around me. I’m not working.”

       “I’m not being careful. Alcohol doesn’t affect werewolves.”

       “You can’t get drunk?”

       “Not on alcohol.” Jim’s eyebrows quirk up and he looks at him appraisingly.

       “Actually, I don’t think I want to know…” That makes him smile and he feels a little less tense. He can still hear Stiles muttering, stomping around upstairs, and he glances quickly toward the ceiling. “You’re not subtle you know. Go on up, before he does one of those circle things around his bedroom. Actually, that isn’t a bad idea…”

       He has no idea what his face looks like, but the Sheriff is laughing, pushing him towards the stairs and he lets him. His life is so many levels of weird right now that having a Sheriff apparently play cupid feels almost normal. Okay, that’s a lie, but weirder things have happened. He goes up the stairs and pushes the door open, half expecting to be unable to do so. The room looks empty, but he can hear Stiles’ heart, more rapid than normal and his accelerated breathing. He just can’t see him.

       Focusing, he flicks his eyes to the open window and rolls his eyes, striding over to it and sticking his head out. Sure enough there’s Stiles, knuckles white and eyes wide as he looks around. He reaches out and pulls him back into the safety of the bedroom, words racing through his mind in a fight for him to speak first.

\---

\---

\---

       “What do you think you’re doing? Trying to kill yourself?”

       “What? You do it all the time! Double standards dude! Harsh!”

       “I do it to avoid your dad!”

       “And I’m doing it to avoid you! Or I was… Anyway, looks like you’re suddenly best friends with my Dad! You don’t need to avoid him!”

       “And you don’t need to avoid me.”

       “Uh, yeah I do. I mean, I get the whole, ‘we’re fine’ thing you seem to want, but I need a little more time, and I get that you’re… regretting last night or whatever. Because yeah, letting a teenager… uh… you know.”

       “Stiles. I didn’t let you do anything. You think I couldn’t have stopped you if I didn’t… like it?”

       Stiles stares at him, mouth doing a gold-fish impression before snapping shut.

       “Oh.”

       “Yeah. Oh.”

       It feels odd when they don’t say anything more, just fucking staring at each other, and he’s starting to wonder what he should say. What needs saying. He’s already said sorry. Not the Stiles was really listening, so maybe he should repeat it?

       “Wait, so… I’m confused. You… let me um, you know, use your body,” his cheeks are flaming red and he wants to run his hands over them, feel the extra warmth to his skin, compare it to what it would feel like normally. “And then you just, drove off. Like I had done something wrong. Dude, Derek, you’re staring. It’s kind of creepy.”

       “Sorry.”

       “Yeah, you said that already today. I’m still confused.”

       Derek rubs his face, wondering how many people are listening in right now from downstairs and knows it’s a futile hope to think that none of them are. Erica at least will definitely listening in, and no doubt offering a running commentary.

       “Last night I… realized that maybe I liked you more than… usual,” he pulls a face at the word, because it doesn’t convey how he feels at all, but explaining how his slight obsession with his moles morphed into a full blown crush (and he can’t think of any better way to describe it really, and now he’s positive that spending time with teenagers is contagious). And Stiles will just tell him how creepy he is again, and he kind of has to agree.

       “I told you, last night, that it’s whatever you want it to be. I meant that. But… it scares me.” He swallows thickly at the admission, wondering if Stiles even realizes just how big this is for him. “It scares me, what you might want from me. Because I might not… be able to give it to you.” I don’t want to disappoint you,he adds silently.

       “Whoa. I really thought I had somehow dreamt that part….”

       “No.”

       “So… oh god. I actually did come in my pants. I mean, the evidence was there, but you know, dreams, and –” Stiles waves his arms around in a ‘you know’ gesture he doesn’t really know what he’s trying to say but he nods anyway. “So, uh, it happened huh? Could happen again? Not that you look overly thrilled with the idea, but I mean, I enjoyed myself. Up until my dad turned up, cause that kind of ruined the moment, but uh, I’m still angry at you by the way.”

       He has to hide a small smile, because the way Stiles says it is almost like he has to remind himself to be angry. He’s not denying that he doesn’t have cause to be angry, but he’s starting to realize that Stiles is going to forgive him. Again. He doesn’t feel like he deserves forgiveness, but he doesn’t think he’s ever met someone as forgiving as Stiles.

       “Actually, I’m pretty angry about a couple of things, but let’s focus on the most important thing right now. I could… we could… uh? Do that again?”

       He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, scowling and looking at his feet. He’s already said so hasn’t he? Or implied as much.

       “Wow man, don’t bowl me over with your enthusiastic agreement. I get that I’m not your fist choice or anything, but your damning me with faint praise over here.”

       “Don’t put words in my mouth!” He says sharply, glancing up. “I – yes. If you want.”

       Stiles is silent and he looks up properly to find him being looked at. Studied. He shifts uncomfortably and hopes he’ll have an answer soon. A yes or no. Something simple. He’s talked enough, feels ripped bare and vulnerable and is feeling like he did last night, itchy energy under his skin and the need to run buzzing through him.

       “But what about what you want?”

       The direct and sharp question reminds him that Stiles is… not an idiot. Something he admires in him, his intelligence, but right now the way Stiles is looking at him just makes him feel like running in the opposite direction.

       “What you want is… more important,” he states.

       “Uh. No. That’s not how this works. Even I know that and I’ve never done this before. Erm. Yeah. I guess you haven’t either, except for… uh. Right. I’m going to shut up now.” He raises an eyebrow, because Stiles shutting up, voluntarily, is… “Okay, so I’m not going to shut up, because one of has to talk, and it’s obviously not going to be you, so, yeah… we need to talk though.”

       He shakes his head and like last night decides to just act. He moves slowly though, hesitant and ready to stop the second Stiles says… anything. Although he doesn’t know if ‘oh god, this is really happening’ counts as saying something that should make him stop. He cups the side of Stiles face with one hand, running his pinky up his neck and letting his fingers curl into his hair slightly as he brushes his thumb over his cheek bone. Watches as Stiles’ eyelids flutter closed and snap back open, watching him intently like he doesn’t want to miss what is about to happen.

       It’s softer than last night, gentler as he barely touches their lips together. He feels Stiles suck in a large breath, the flick of his tongue as he apparently goes to lick his own lips and instead licks Derek’s. Stiles might not have meant it as encouragement, but Derek takes it as such, letting his other hand settle on his hip, thumb flicking at the fabric of his shirts and working its way underneath to brush over bare skin.


	7. Chapter 7

           He pulls away before it gets any further and Stiles presses against him, so the pulling away just turns into both of them moving in one direction and he has to stop himself from smiling about it. He tries again and this time exerts some tiny pressure to push Stiles away from him and gets hands scrabbling at his chest and pulling at the fabric of his Henley.

       “No, no no no Derek… no more stopping.”

       “I’d agree, except…Uh, you house is kind of full of werewolves right now.”

       That gets the response he’d kind of expected, hands releasing the fabric of his Henley, pushing him away (completely ineffectively he’d like to note) and horrified wide eyes going to his open bedroom door and then to the floor.

       “They heard all that?” Stiles asks, in what he probably thinks is a whisper, but is nowhere near quiet enough to not be heard, especially given Stiles squawk of shock. He knows they heard because he can hear a couple of them stifling their laughing and he sighs.

       “Yes, they… did.”

       “Oh god. But last night, they didn’t…”

       “No, the music, and we were a lot further away than we are now.”

       “Except then my dad turned up. Oh god. We’re going to need to go on vacation, to Antarctica just so we can…”

       Stiles flushes and waves his hands around in that all-encompassing gesture which he’s starting to translate as ‘sex’, or an equally embarrassing word that he doesn’t want to say aloud with a bunch of werewolves listening in. He understands. For once.

       “We don’t need to go anywhere… we just, have to wait for a more opportune time. Anyway, we should date. Your dad was right. Take things… slow?”

       “Slow? My dad said nothing about slow! Or dating! Just that he doesn’t want to see anything so he can continue being in denial… wait. You want to date me?”

       “I…” He realizes he’s trapped in a web of his own making, actually voicing what he wants, and of course, it’s not only what he wants, but he doesn’t just want Stiles for his body. He’d like to do something right.

       “Oh my god! You so do! And I am totally okay with that, but none of that waiting three dates crap. I mean, I think I’ve gone past the lines of proper date etiquette already right? What with last night? Yeah…”

       Stiles is smiling at the memory, obviously one that doesn’t end with Derek driving off and abandoning him. He can do this; he can try and do this, and try to not fuck it up spectacularly. Little fuckups will probably be forgiven, he’s just going to need to become much better at expressing things. Hopefully when his entire pack isn’t listening in, and he’s glad at least he went for the more expensive sound dampening building materials. They won’t block out everything thoughand he strongly expects Stiles will talk a lot. And then some.

       “Dude, what are you thinking about? You’re blushing!”

       “So are you,” he retorts, although it’s not actually true, Stiles’ flushed cheeks from just a moment before have gone back to just the hint of pink in the apples of his cheeks.

       “You don’t want to tell me huh? Must be pretty bad.”

       “Shut up Stiles.”

       “Really bad. I know all about diversion and distraction techniques. You are looking at a true master of avoidance. I’ll get it out of you eventually.”

       “You really want to know?”

       “Of course!”

       He steps forward, pressing his body against the length of Stiles’ and then stepping then backward until Stiles is resting against the door frame. He’s gentle, but he can already hear the increase in Stiles’ heart rate that he would have trouble discerning between fear and arousal from a distance. This close he doesn’t need his sense of smell, or even his eyes, he can feel Stiles’ cock filling against the press of his leg as he gets harder. He moves his thigh, dragging denim against denim in a delicious friction that has Stiles stuttering a moan.

       “You need to be quiet…” He says into the shell of Stiles’ ear, voice barely audible to his own ears he’s talking so quietly. “I was thinking about you, what sounds you might make. What you will look like. I was a bit distracted last night, but I want to learn every little sound you make, learn my favorites and then make you make that same sound over and over again…” Stiles squeaks, his fingers digging into his back and he lets his hand go back to the hem of Stiles’ t-shirt, slipping underneath to feel the warm skin and his fingers search out any tiny raised bumps. “I want to take you apart, count every damn mole on your body and learn where they all are. Lick each one. Learn what you taste like.”

       Stiles makes a little meep sound, which he decides he likes more than the squeak and he shifts, grinding his leg carefully against him and he feels Stiles head fall to his shoulder, teeth digging in to his flesh there and he presses a bit harder, enjoying the shuddering feel of Stiles body as it presses against him and he nips at his earlobe with his lips.

       “And you know what, none of that is what made me blush… the idea of you doing the same to me is what made me blush.”

       “Oh fuck.”

       “I’ll see you downstairs.”

       “What! No! Derek!”

       He quirks his eyebrows playfully as he steps away, dodging Stiles hand more easily this time and feeling incredibly lighthearted despite the churning in his stomach caused by a combination of fear and arousal. Stiles slams his bedroom door and that makes him laugh and he adjusts himself carefully before calling out a reminder to Stiles that he was meant to be angry with him anyway and making his way downstairs.

\---

\---

\---

       He has to stop himself from grinning, because he can hear Stiles muttering, calling him a variety of creative names and then ‘would serve him right if I just stayed up here and jerked off’ and he freezes at the bottom of the stairs. He wouldn’t. There are five other werewolves in the vicinity, not including himself, surely Stiles wouldn’t. He’s jerked out of his horrified reverie by Jim who is looking up the stairs questioningly.

       “Any reason Stiles didn’t come down?”

       He looks up the stairs and then back at the Sheriff.

       “Uh. He’s still a little angry with me?” Shit. He didn’t mean to make that sound like a question. “He just needs a little time to cool off.”

       “He can’t be too angry, I couldn’t hear him yelling at you. He’s not quiet you know.”

       Oh god.

       “Uh.”

       “Just letting you know.”

       He gets another pat to his upper arm and he’s not sure why it sounds like a warning, but it definitely is and he nods slowly, moving away from the stairs and following the Sheriff to the kitchen. Most of the pack is standing around the corn chips and salsa, inhaling the food at a rate that used to worry him. The Sheriff sighs beside him before grabbing another bag of chips and emptying it into the bowl.

       “Derek you only have yourself to blame man,” Stiles says, loudly enough to just be heard over the crunching of chips and he makes no outward sign that he heard him. The others aren’t so well practiced, looking up and then at him and he gets a variety of different looks. He just shrugs, according to Isaac and Erica they’ve all been waiting for it to happen anyway, and now it is, although… was that a zipper?

       “I know you can all hear me, and you better vacate the premises now if you don’t want to hear something that will scar you for life… Scott, you especially buddy.”

       There’s confused looks for a matter of seconds before Scott stares at the ceiling with a horrified look before dragging his protesting mother out the backdoor. Isaac’s nose wrinkles and he follows, along with Jackson who just looks disgusted and an amused looking Lydia. Scott comes back in and drags Allison out who goes quietly but with a puzzled look on her face.

       “What? Why is everyone leaving?” Jim asks, looking at the people now congregating in the backyard and talking far too loudly in the far corner of the garden. Isaac is humming.

       “I’m not leaving,” Erica states, grinning and making herself comfortable on one of the bar stools while Derek glares at her. He’s not sure what to do but fortunately Boyd seems to understand, just wrapping an arm around her shoulders and moving her bodily outside while she pretends to pout, laughing at him when he just continues to glare at her.

       “I’m missing something. What am I missing?”

       “Uh…” He glances up at the ceiling again, and he can’t hear anything but his mind is providing image after image of just what Stiles might be up to in that deliberate silence and he looks at Jim again.

       “Do I need to go up there?”

       “No!”

       “Son, you look like a deer in headlights. What’s going on? Wait. Is this another thing I really don’t want to know about?”

       “Yes?” He pauses, because again it sounds like a question. “Yes,” he says again, this time adamantly and they just stare at each other for a few seconds and then he’s scrunching his eyes shut and wincing, the Sheriff yelling;

       “STILES! Stop scaring your friends away! Get your ass down these stairs in ten seconds or you’re grounded!”

       He hears sounds again, the clattering of something hitting the floor, the door being pulled open and then the sounds of Stiles running-jumping down the steps with a bang. He looks… normal, although his heart rate is a little faster than usual.

       “You can’t ground me! I didn’t even do anything!”

       “Why do I feel like a this time should be added to the end of that sentence? Anyway, I think your friends outside would disagree. It’s not nice to leave them… unattended.”

       He got down here remarkably fast, considering. He frowns and tries not to make it too obvious that he’s inhaling through his nose and almost gags at the strong over-powering scent of Axe or whatever body spray Stiles has covered himself in.

       “Firstly, they’re not unattended. You’re here,” Stiles says, giving his father a pointed look. He then turns to Derek. “Secondly, you only have yourself to blame for that.” He coughs and he’s pretty sure his eyes might be watering now that Stiles is close enough and he’s shocked there aren’t actual fumes coming off of him. “Now, I am going outside to hang out with my friends. The ones who aren’t conspiring together against me. Don’t forget, I’m still angry at both of you!”

       He waves an accusatory finger at them both and then stalks out, probably trying to be dignified except he stumbles over the top step, shattering that illusion completely. Stiles glances back at them, as if daring them to laugh at him or say anything and they both wisely keep quiet.

       “God that stuff reeks. He did that deliberately just to screw with you hmm?”

       “Uh huh.”

       “I think I have a week of tofu in my future.”

       He pulls a face at the idea of tofu, not because he doesn’t like it, but the idea of an entire week…

       “Good to see he can take care of himself though. You’re in good hands, because I don’t know what all that was about, but it had you running scared, along with everyone else.”

       He blinks at the sharp pat to his back, and the Sheriff sounds proud of Stiles, for somehow gaining the upper hand and he can’t help but feel a little proud too, he doesn’t want someone who can’t keep up with him. Although he’d really like to know what Stiles was doing in the silence.

 


	8. Chapter 8

           The cookout ends and everyone heads home, although there is definitely a higher than normal level of residual embarrassment running around. Like everyone else present he’s registered the hushed conversation between Scott and Stiles, deliberately moving away so they can have a private conversation, although Scott yelling ‘are you serious?’ didn’t really help matters, and he’d definitely picked up his name a couple of times.

       He helps clean up, Melissa acting like a drill sergeant and he has to take lessons from her, the way everyone just falls into line. Although maybe it’s just a mom thing, because he finds himself stacking chairs, moving them to the corner of the porch and putting covers over them when she tells him to. Along with the Sheriff’s earlier ‘son’ and the sheer family feel to the evening he’s left feeling a little melancholic.

       Despite all that he feels like it’s been a success, although he got a dirty look every time Stiles takes food away from Jim, from both of them. He’d been quiet for most of the night, quietly observing his pack, his friends, in a calm and relaxed social situation. With parents present. He’s glad to note that no ones behavior alters too drastically, so it’s not just him they seem to push boundary wise.

       Stiles has tried to avoid him for most of the evening, and he’s done admirably, but only because Derek has let him. He figures if it only struck him last night that he wants Stiles, it might take Stiles a little while to accept that he’s wanted. By Derek. He doesn’t really see the appeal, but he catches Stiles watching him a couple of times, quiet contemplation on his face. Although the way his face heats when Derek catches him he imagines some of the contemplation is R–rated.

       Leaving without saying anything feels wrong, so he loiters around the dining room a little longer, knowing Stiles can’t avoid him forever, although the disproportionately long time he’s taking to say goodbye to Erica, Boyd and Isaac would suggest otherwise, and he can hear what they’re talking about and it’s all school related and sounds so… normal. He hears Stiles close the door and he looks toward him, takes in his slumped posture as if he’s somehow trying to hold the door up and meets his eyes.

       “You’re still here. I mean, great! You’re still here. Uh.” He’s a little insulted that Stiles would think he’d just leave but he just nods, takes a couple of side steps closer. “I – Uh. Where is my dad? Just uh, maybe we could, um…”

       His lips twitch in amusement, but he really has no intentions of doing anything right now. Wants to let Stiles at least get used to the idea, because last night was a bit too rushed, and the last thing he wants to do is have Stiles regret whatever this is going to be.

       “He’s scrubbing down the grill.”

       “Oh. Okay. So uh… you enjoy yourself? I mean, you didn’t look like you weren’t enjoying yourself, but I find it hard to tell sometimes, what with your whole… face thing.”

       “My face?” Derek asks, and he’s kind of enjoying this, probably more than he should.

       “Expressions. You seemed to be glaring less than normal. That’s good right? Um, a good sign?”

       He takes pity on him and nods, wonders if Stiles has noticed that he’s been spending more time with them as a group anyway, trying to encourage the instinctive pack bond between them all.

       “Cool. That’s cool. Uh. So, you going to leave? Not that I want you to leave! Just uh, I have school tomorrow and my dad’s probably going to come and kick you out any second now, although I guess that’s never stopped you sneaking in anyway. I was just… wondering. What you were going to do I mean.”

       “You played a pretty mean trick earlier.”

       “Who says it was a trick?” Stiles asks, and he knows he’s trying to make it sound like a challenge, except the fact that Stiles can’t wont’ meet his eyes, his heart starting to accelerate and he steps closer, stopping until there’s less than half a foot between them.

       “You know Erica was ready to sit and listen to you?”

       “Oh, uh, oh my god –”

       “Your dad was going to go up and see if you were okay…” He’s still not sure what Stiles was doing up there, but he knows he wasn’t jerking off. Firstly he’d come downstairs far too fast for someone who might have had their cock out, and he hadn’t smelt… he stops, frowning. He hadn’t been able to tell how he smelt because of the damn body spray. Huh. Maybe he did jerk off. He could just ask, be able to tell from Stiles answer the truth of the matter but it feels like an invasion of his privacy. As much privacy as someone can get in a house full of werewolves anyway, and Stiles seemed pretty adamant to throw that out the window earlier.

       “Really? Because that would have been bad. Like, epically bad.”

       He nods and shifts closer, just slightly, and he’s not sure how Stiles managed it, but he has his answer right there and he shakes his head in quite amusement, wondering how he kept himself quiet. He feels the heat from their bodies warming the air between them, still not touching, and he’s starting to question his reasons for going slow. He can’t smell Stiles, only the lingering body spray, and his nose wrinkles in distaste. A part of him wants to push Stiles into a shower, scrub him clean and then stay with him until he smells like Stiles again. Or like Derek. There’s definitely part of him that wants that.

       It’s that thought that makes him draw back, putting a bit more distance between them again, although Stiles hands have gone to his waist, thumbs brushing over his stomach so lightly it almost tickles. That is not a secret he will be letting Stiles aware of.

       “You boys finished saying goodbye?”

       He jumps, startled, and he’s pretty sure his reaction is what has Stiles also jumping backwards, head knocking on the door and he has to stop himself from turning and glaring and also automatically putting his hand on Stiles to gauge the pain. The way he’s glaring at his father though he guesses he can’t be in too much pain.

       “No dad, we haven’t.”

       “Okay then, hurry up, it’s almost curfew you know. And seeing as you’re at home I can actually enforce it for once.”

       “Could you, like, leave?” Stiles asks, knocking his head back on the door again and face scrunching up in pain, although he’s pretty sure it’s emotional pain, embarrassment, and not physical.

       “Nope. I gave you plenty of time. That grill is as clean as it was when I brought it.” Stiles glares and seeing as he’s not the object of either of their attention he actually finds this kind of amusing really, although he makes sure to keep his face neutral. The last thing he wants is to have them both turn on him. “Oh, just because I don’t object doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy. You two organized a date or anything?”

       “Oh my god dad! We haven’t even talked properly yet!”

       “What were you doing up in your bedroom earlier then?”

       “Talking! But not about going on a date! Just – can you go away? Please?”

       Jim bids him goodnight, tells Stiles ‘five minutes!’and goes back into the kitchen with a chuckle, he nods back politely, deciding to wisely keep his mouth shut. Even with a time limit neither of them seem to be able to say anything, just staring and then looking away with embarrassed glances.

       “It’ll take a while,” Stiles says eventually, and they’re probably in their last minute, and he doesn’t doubt the Sheriff is in the kitchen with the oven timer or something, but he has no idea what Stiles is talking about.

       “What will?”

       “Learning where all my moles are. I mean, I’m kind of covered in them.”

       He shrugs, smiles slowly and shakes his head.

       “I’m not going anywhere.”

\---

\---

\---

       “Oh my god Derek! You can’t just say things like that! It’s not fair!” Stiles exclaims, although he’s pretty sure he said the right thing, because Stiles is looking all pleased and happy. He likes it.

       “Time’s up!”

       “Oh god dad! He’s leaving, he’s leaving… for fucks sake,” Stiles mutters the last under his breath. “I’m just going to walk Derek to his car.”

       “Uh uh uh. I am certain Derek is more than capable of protecting his virtue the whole fifteen yards he has to walk to his car. Derek, nice… seeing you.”

       “Uh, Jim. Thanks for having me?”

       “We really need to have more social situations,” Stiles says, and he quietly agrees, although it’s only with the Sheriff that he feels this unbalanced, and he’s sure that Jim is doing and saying half the things he does deliberately, with the sole aim being to unsettle him.

       “Right, well, drive safe and uh, you know, watch out for black ice and have you ever put chains on the Camaro? That would kind of ruin the look though huh?” He’s used to Stiles going off on tangents, wants to point out that it’s October and that there is no chance of ice. He exchanges a helpless look with Jim, wondering if maybe there’s a secret to shutting him up. One that doesn’t involve covering his mouth with his own. He knows Stiles is trying to deflect when he mentions wild animals, arms waving dramatically and he lets out a sigh, reaching behind him for the door handle. “Dad!”

       “What?”

       “I was trying to – just. One more minute. Leave unless you want to see the previously mentioned kissing you said you didn’t want to see!”

       “Oh for – fine!” Jim rolls his eyes and turns around, walking back to the kitchen and he’s pretty sure he’s pouring himself a scotch, but Stiles body is pressing against him, lips against his and he quickly focuses all his attention to this. Stiles is being gentle, as if he’s worried that he’ll scare him, and he supposes he hasn’t exactly given him reason to not think that. It’s not Stiles that he’s scared of though, it’s more himself, the fact that he could hurt him, of being hurt.

       He lets his lips part, smiles inwardly as Stiles takes this as silent encouragement, as he gets bolder and his tongue slips into his mouth, tracing over his teeth. It’s slow and exploratory, nothing like last night, or even earlier, when it had felt hotter. Harsher. A bit desperate and Stiles had been angry. He can feel Stiles’ hands beneath his jacket, just there, making him feel even warmer and he reaches up with his hands, cupping his head gently, still letting Stiles take the lead until a sharp cough reminds him that Stiles had asked for one minute and that had felt like eternity and a second all at once.

       “Right, of course he becomes punctual when I’m finally having some fun.”

       “You weren’t having fun before this?”

       “Not this type of fun…”

       Jim coughs again, louder and Stiles waves his arms at him.

       “Yes dad! I heard you! I guess… this is good night.”

       “Yeah. Night,” he says quietly, taking in the pink flush to his cheeks, the slightly swollen lips, the fingers that are curling and uncurling into fists as if he wants to reach for Derek again.

       “Derek, let me walk you to your car, seeing as Stiles was so worried about you earlier.”

       “Oh my god dad! Could you at least try to not embarrass me?”

       “Too late for that.”

       He nods his head slightly at Stiles, trying to silently tell him… something. He has no idea what though. He pulls his keys from his pocket and opens the Camaro, turning to face Jim.

       “I think Stiles had a point before.”

       “Uh? When?”

       “About the social situations. I think you should come for dinner more often. Consider this an open invitation. It was… nice, seeing them just be themselves, given what they’ve all gone through.”

       “Yeah. It was.”

       “Right. I imagine I’ll be seeing more of you. Have a good night Derek.”

       It’s clearly a dismissal and he gets into the driver’s seat, letting Jim shut the door with an appropriate amount of reverence.

       “Night sir.”

       Jim huffs quietly and he raises his hand awkwardly to wave goodbye before driving away. He’s pretty sure Jim is ensuring that he’s actually leaving, and he wonders if he knows about his trips through Stiles’ bedroom window. Probably. The idea is slightly worrying, because despite it, he still seems okay with Derek dating Stiles. Being around him. Something he didn’t think any parent would be okay with. He’s almost home when he remembers he hasn’t set up a date.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: Those of you that have read First Day know I don’t usually have trouble coming up with unusual date ideas. But a date between Derek and Stiles? Stumped me. Completely and utterly.

 

       Isaac is no use, just offers up the usual boring things. Movies. Dinner. He’d like to think he’s a bit more creative than that. Except he fears that he really really isn’t. He sighs and wonders if maybe Google would help. Or maybe Lydia. Erica? Fuck no. Then they’d know when and where they were going and no doubt follow them. Any date is bound for disaster if it’s accompanied by a group of people leering. So Google it is.

       He has to borrow Isaac’s laptop, and as he reads through the first page he knows this isn’t going to help. Get your palms read. Knowing his luck they’d strike a real medium who would just predict their death. Fly a kite. No. Sign up for a one-night class at the local college. And learn what? Rug making? Hit a farmers' market and scavenge for your dinner. Had enough of that in his past. Frisbee. Nope. Several layers of nope. He can just imagine Stiles and the dog jokes now.

       Reading through the rest of the list he discounts all of them, although he’s pretty sure Stiles would go along with some of them, but he’s just… He’s not made out for this. That worries him as well, that Stiles will have expectations and that he just can’t meet them. Screw it. Stiles is always telling him he needs to talk more, so he’s going to talk.

       He picks up his phone, it’s battered and despite what the others might think, he uses it daily. He checks the weather, listens to music, and sometimes takes pictures, something Laura used to do and he’s trying to emulate, only because looking through the photos she’d taken makes him feel a little less alone. He presses Stiles contact and waits for him to pick up.

       It takes longer than usual and Stiles sounds out of breath when he answers, as if he’d rushed to answer his phone and he wonders if Stiles has assigned him a special ringtone, knows it’s him without even having to look at the number calling.

       “Derek? Is everything alright?” Stiles asks, prompting him when he hasn’t said anything and now that he’s on the phone with him he feels like an idiot.

       “Yes.”

       “So… you were calling me because…?” He frowns, did he really think that ringing Stiles and asking him where he wanted to go on their first date would be a good idea? Obviously whatever crazy the Stilinski family has is highly contagious, along with the whole hanging out with teenagers too much.

       “Did you miss me?” Stiles asks, and he sounds teasing, but Derek knows Stiles would be secretly pleased if Derek tells him yes so he just makes a noncommittal sound that could be taken either way, because he hasn’t missed him, been too worried about other things and he doesn’t miss people after only seeing them a short while ago. “Already? I mean you only left here like an hour ago. Oh wait, it’s past midnight. Two hours. You know, this is why I think something is wrong. Normal people don’t ring me at this time of night…”

       He rubs his face with his spare hand and wonders if Stiles will ever stop exasperating him before realizing it’s part of what he likes about him. He’s not sure whether to be worried about that or not.

       “Unless it’s for… uh, you know, a booty call. Is that what this is? Because I am so down with that. Kind of uh… you know what? I don’t think we’re quite there yet, despite the whole thing last night, and my dad’s just down the hall, so uh, maybe I should talk a little quieter huh? Because he can probably hear me. Talking.”

       “Stiles, what are you talking about?”

       “Nothing! Nothing. Just, uh, wondering about… um. Yeah. So, what’s with the phone call?”

       He blinks and lets out a slow breath, reminding himself that he likes Stiles like this although asking him, talking to him about this, makes him unaccountably nervous for reasons he doesn’t want to look at too closely.

       “I was just… thinking about date ideas.”

       “I – seriously? That’s what has you phoning me at quarter past twelve. I have school tomorrow man! Today! Whatever.”

       “You didn’t sound asleep.”

       “I wasn’t! But I could have been! And it wasn’t like I wasn’t busy.”

       “With what?”

       “I’m not telling you that!”

       “Oh.”

       Of course his mind goes there and he feels his skin prickle with just the thought of Stiles alone, without a houseful of werewolves potentially listening in, using the spray to cover his scent, able to make as much noise as he wants and the smell after he comes…

       “I’m hanging up now!”

       He knows it’s an empty threat because if Stiles meant it he’d be listening to a dial-tone right now, and he’s not, he’s listening to him breathe and his mind is more fixated on what Stiles is doing. Or probably doing. Last night outside the club, he’d been there, Stiles rutting against his thigh as he came, earlier this evening he’d been downstairs, and he’s 99% sure that Stiles jerked off silently somehow, and now he’s inadvertently interrupted him in what would be the third time in a twenty-four hour period.

       He wants to ask Stiles what he’s doing, but the words get stuck in his throat. He’s never done anything like this before, doesn’t know if Stiles wants him to or not, although he strongly suspects Stiles would go along with it. He doesn’t imagine Stiles has any more experience than him when it comes to this and that’s what has him opening his mouth.

       “Are you touching yourself?”

       “Oh my god…”

       “That’s not a no Stiles…” He hears a quiet meep, the same sound he’d drawn out of Stiles earlier in his bedroom and he swallows, recalling the feel of soft skin beneath the pads of his fingers. “Do you want me to hang up?”

       “No.”

       Well fuck.

\---

\---

\---

       “How do you even know what I’m doing?”

       “I didn’t. I don’t.” Tell me.

       “Oh. Just a lucky guess then.”

       “Yeah.”

       Stiles’ breathing is more rapid and his entire body gives a shiver-tingle, pants feeling tighter and fuck he wishes he wasn’t sitting on the sofa. He needs to move. Listening outwardly for just a second he can tell Isaac is in his room, thankfully asleep judging from his quiet even breathing and he feels a sense of relief wash through him. He didn’t used to care about who could hear what, but since being without a pack, and his new one being made up of bitten weres rather than born he’s much more self-conscious about the noises he might make.

       “Come on Derek, talk to me…”

       “I – and say what?”

       “What you said before, when you were here, god, you weren’t even trying then were you?”

       “I – no?”

       “You know I jerked off right? You made me so hard, and it was either take care of it or walk around with a boner. Which are both equally embarrassing situations I’d like to point out. I went with the lesser of the two evils.”

       “What was it I said that made you so hard?”

       “Fuck… everything. Do you really think about me? Like that?”

       “Of course. I wouldn’t have said I did if I didn’t.” He frowns, recalling the same thought that Stiles had seemed… insecure. He doesn’t like the idea that Stiles seems to think that he’s… not attractive. He’s more than attractive.

       “Oh god…”

       He closes his bedroom door with a solid click and locks it just to be sure before working the buttons of his fly with one hand, wondering if he should be telling Stiles what he’s doing. Is that how this is meant to work? He rests his head on the door, twisting his hips slightly as he pushes his jeans and underwear down his thighs.

       “You’re not talking Derek…”

       “Sorry, just… taking my pants off.”

       “Oh fuck. Really?” Stiles breathing hitches and catches, coming faster and he desperately wants to know what he’s doing, can imagine his hand working on his cock, other hand pressing the phone to his ear and he knows what he wants to say now.

       “You think you don’t turn me on? That the idea of you doing this for the third time in the last twenty-four hours doesn’t turn me on?”

       “Fourth time. Uh. I jerked off this morning as well…”

       “Fuck Stiles…” He can’t help but let out an amused huff at Stiles correcting him, although the idea of him being so horny that he’s jerked off four times makes his own cock fill further, thickening and lengthening in his hand.

       “Yeah well, I didn’t think I’d get a repeat performance of last night, so I thought I better enjoy the memory before I saw you again… fuck Derek, you know I can barely think straight, I want to do all those things you talked about. I mean, I’m pretty down with licking you all over… your abs. I’m kind of obsessed with them. A little. Maybe. Okay. A lot.” He bites back a retort about unhealthy obsessions, because he can’t really talk with his own desire to map out the tiny marks on Stiles body like the stars in the sky. He pushes his shoes off and then yanks at his jeans, grunting a bit as he moves toward his bed.

       “Hey, can you tell if I lie over the phone?”

       “Why would you lie?”

       “Uh, cause this is phone sex right? And I could tell you that I’m like, um, stretching myself?”

       He can almost feel Stiles embarrassment through the phone, and while the thought has him working his hand on his cock in a slow steady rhythm he has to make something clear right now.

       “You don’t need to make things up. Just,” he clears his throat, “hearing you like this is enough.”

       “Oh. Oh that’s… fuck. Um, okay then. Yeah. I can do that. Although I don’t know how long this’ll last, because apparently the idea of you jerking off to thoughts of me makes me… aroused. More aroused than normal I mean. Uh. Is that narcissistic? It sounds a little narcissistic to me.”

       He smiles as he settles himself on his bed, blankets thrown back and wondering if Stiles would talk this much if they were together, or if their mouths would be too busy. He’s pretty sure he’d ensure their mouths were too busy.

       “I like the idea of watching you do this,” Derek admits. “Of kissing you while you touch yourself.”

       His cock twitches at the little meeping sound that comes through his phone and he knows he’s quickly going to develop a need to hear that sound over and over and he groans quietly, wanting to muffle the sound but also wanting for Stiles to hear him. He wraps his hand firmer around his cock, wondering what Stiles hand would feel like, softer probably. Gentler.

       “What are you doing?”

       “Wondering what your hand would feel like on my cock.”

       “Oh my god… See! You’re not… you’re not even trying to be sexy, and you just are and oh fuck… Derek.”

       Stiles is babbling, truly babbling, talking so fast the words flow into one another and make little to no sense at all. He moves his hand faster, hips making a very slight thrusting motion upward to meet his downward stroke. He recalls last night, the feeling of Stiles pressed against him, coming while pressing his cock against his leg and he feels his balls tighten, heat and tension curling in his stomach.

       “Do you – do you think about me?”

       He cringes at how vulnerable it makes him sound, makes him feel and can only hope at least that Stiles is too far gone to hear that tone.

       “Fuck. Really? Only all the fucking time. Can’t you tell?” Stiles pants.

       Can he? He hasn’t really thought about it, has been too busy avoiding him thinking he’d somehow know, and he supposes Stiles’ scent has always had some hint of sex in it, but everyone’s does generally, just with different levels of intensity. He’d just never realized it had been for him, rather than just… at him. Yet another reason why Erica had called him an idiot.

       “Are you close?”

       “Oh fuck. I am now… shit.”

       That’s followed by a litany of curses and what he can only assume is the sounds of Stiles coming undone as he comes. He moves his hand faster, his grip tightening just enough for an added layer of friction and he wishes he could see him, smell, touch, taste… everything. The pressure and tension is near its peak and he lets it flow over him, enjoys the shudder in his body as he comes with a groan and Stiles name on his lips.

       “Oh my god…” Stiles lets out a deep sigh followed by a weird burbling sound, almost like he’s blowing a raspberry. “…oh my god. Shit. I think I woke my dad up.”

       He keeps quiet, letting himself come down from the high and waits for Stiles to say something. Realizing that he’s never going to have to worry about awkward silences, of not knowing how Stiles feels, because Stiles will never hold back about letting him know exactly what it is he’s done wrong. His voice is quieter when he speaks again.

       “Can we make that part of our nighttime routine? Like after brushing our teeth? Because that was awesome.”

       He hums quietly in agreement, feeling content. It feels weird, and he hopes it’s only because he’s not used to it rather than anything foreboding. He can tell Stiles is falling asleep, his breathing evening out and he matches his own to it for the simple relaxation it brings.

       “Good night Stiles…”

       “Mmm. Nigh’.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

           He hung up on him last night, once he was certain Stiles was actually asleep, and he hopes that Stiles doesn’t take that the wrong way or anything, but he really doesn’t need to listen to him breathe all night. Not unless they’re in the same bed, and then it would be different, because he’d be able to feel Stiles breathing all night.

           He likes the idea, knows he’s starting to get used to having people around him again. People who aren’t family, but are pack. Like Isaac’s steady heartbeat and snuffling noises, Erica’s quicker and quieter paced pitter-patter. They all bring him a sense of comfort now, not that he’ll ever admit that out loud. He runs the perimeter, frowning when he can smell the faint scent of Stiles, as if he’s done the same thing not long ago.

           When he gets back to the house he checks his phone, not something he would usually do but the memory of last night is still humming through his mind and he’s already had to fight down the urge to seek Stiles out at school. That way lies madness, although the cryptic ‘We need to talk’ followed by ‘This is Stiles by the way’ messages on his phone, sent from Isaac’s phone make him feel jittery. On edge.

           He’s not an idiot, but he has no idea what Stiles wants to talk to him about or why Stiles is messaging him from Isaac’s phone. Oh. His probably went flat. He can’t help it, his anxiousness increasing throughout the day, his imagination coming up with worse suggestions for the topic of conversation as time goes by. He finally snaps and decides he needs to get this talk over with so he heads to the school, waiting for the final bell.

           He’d forgotten about lacrosse though, and he supposes it’s not too weird to be seen watching the team practice. Lydia and Allison move to sit beside him, the look on Lydia’s face clearly disparaging that he didn’t go and sit beside her in the first place and he is determined not to feel chastised by a teenage girl. It doesn’t really work. Especially when Erica sits down on his other side, and he guesses at least one benefit of phone-sex is that he doesn’t reek of Stiles. He watches the team run around, and when Stiles sees him he grins and waves (almost falling over while walking backwards) and he just smiles very slightly in response. His clearly happy reaction at seeing Derek makes him relax. Nothing too bad then.

           Neither Erica, Allison or Lydia say anything, but he can tell they’re exchanging looks behind his back whenever he leans forward, and he supposes he needs to be grateful that they’re not leaning forward and exchanging looks in front of him, because somehow that would be worse. At least he doesn’t expect Allison to say anything to him. When they start texting each other though he lets out a loud sigh, giving them each a short glare for good measure.

           “Oh no, you can’t be like that with her. Judging from the way Stiles was grinning this morning her little trick on Saturday finally got you two out of the little impasse that’s been hanging around for the last year. Without us you’d still be making idiots of yourselves.”

           “They still kind of are…” Erica states, and he can hear her grinning and Lydia hmms in agreement. He knows they’re trying to bait him, but he refuses to bite, instead watching Stiles run around on the field.

           When practice is finally over he enjoys the sight of Stiles running toward him and he can’t help the small smile, which he only really knows about because Erica elbows him in the side and laughs at him, muttering about him being so far gone it’s pathetic. He finds he doesn’t care and he stands, wanting to reach out and touch but instead lets his fingers curl into his palms and just standing there, a few feet away.

           “Sitting with the ladies huh Derek?” Jackson asks, and Derek shakes his head, because the way he sounds it is clearly meant to be derogatory, and he can’t believe that Lydia hasn’t gotten up and slapped him yet.

           “Well, we are the most powerful and intelligent members of the pack. You lot are just the brute force,” Erica states, giving the other boys a pointed look. Wisely none of them say anything, although Stiles is grinning widely and fuck he looks good. Scott makes a hurried exit, mumbling about hitting the showers, the others leaving just as quickly although Danny gives them all confused looks before following.

           Erica is outright laughing at them, and he knows they can all probably smell it, but the way Stiles is just staring and grinning at him is pretty obvious. Erica drags Lydia and Allison away, muttering about leaving the two love birds and when Stiles joins him in frowning at them he feels a spike of warmth go through him. He moves so he’s standing within arms reach

           “You wanted to talk?”

           “What? Oh. Yeah. Talk. Yeah. I do want to talk to you. Seeing you in person is kind of distracting. And I need a shower. Like. Really need a shower. I’m covered in mud. But uh… I think I’ll shower at home. Yeah.”

           He listens as Stiles rambles, letting himself breathe through his nose now that the others have gone and yeah, he gets why Scott suddenly ran off.  And the reason why Stiles wants to shower at home. He can’t let himself think about it too much. He really can’t.

           “Right. I’ll see you there then.”

           “Wait. What?”

           “At your place. Text me when you’re out of the shower.”

           “Oh, okay, sure.”

           He turns and walks away, raising a hand in farewell and not turning to look back, fighting the urge to just go back, grab him and kiss him until he’s breathless. Except given how aroused Stiles is right now, some alone time is the best thing for him. Right. He needs to keep repeating that. He gets into his car and grips the steering wheel, wondering what he can do to kill time before deciding a simple drive around town will suffice.

           He gets a few odd looks, nothing unusual considering his history, although he actually gets a wave from one of the Deputies driving past in a patrol car, and he’s not sure if it was meant to unnerve him or be reassuring. He drives slowly in the direction of the Stilinski household, taking detours before his phone finally chimes with a text. Pulling up outside he heads for the front door; as much as Jim seems supportive of this relationship, climbing through windows is sure to make him second guess his decision.

           Knocking on the front door he can hear Stiles thumping down the stairs and he shoves his hands in his jacket pockets so any instinct to just reach out and grab him is at least delayed a little. There’s no need to worry about moving though, because when the door opens he can’t move. Stiles is standing there, wearing nothing but jeans and he can see water droplets still on his bare chest, damp patches of skin smelling fresh, bare feet and he can see moles on his feet and fuck…

           He steps into the house and closes the door behind him.

\---

\---

\---

           Stiles steps back, eyes wide.

           “You need to put a shirt on…” he states, which is the complete opposite of what he really wants. Stiles looks down at his bare chest and then up, head cocked to one side slightly and silent. He looks at the darker spots of skin, wants to touch them, see how many he can cover with his hands, if there are possible images he could draw like a dot-to-dot picture, or constellations.

           “You… oh my god. You actually really like me. Find me attractive I mean. Whoa. This is…”

           He glances up from studying a mole near Stiles belly-button, one that he’s sure is a little heart shape and he scowls.

           “You’re an idiot. I told you.”

           “Yeah, but, hearing it and seeing it are like… totally different things. You want me to put a shirt on because I’m distracting you.”

           Stiles seems delighted, and a part of him wants to be childish and take his own shirt of, because he knows that distracts Stiles, or at least makes him flush with heat, and it would put them on and even footing, except he’s trying to act like an adult. Plus he likes seeing Stiles so happy, filled with confidence and amazement.

           “You said you wanted to talk.”

           “Oh. Yeah… actually maybe putting a shirt on would be a good idea.”

           “Yeah.”

           He says the word, but his body moves forward, touching, reaching, hand going to the still-damp skin of Stiles waist and he leans forward, pressing his lips against Stiles’, letting himself enjoy the clean taste of water on warm skin and what would be pure Stiles, except it tastes like he had a cinnamon pop tart. He can feel Stiles’ hands on his stomach, rubbing over the fabric of his t-shirt and it goes from nothing to everything.

           He lets himself give in to just feeling, the warmth between their bodies, Stiles hands, mouth and tongue all moving eagerly, and he won’t deny he feels the same eagerness. But he enjoys this, just kissing, feels like he skipped over it too quickly in his previous… relationship, that he missed a step. He doesn’t want Stiles to feel like he’s missed out on anything, so he’s thorough, taking his time, alternating between soft barely-there pecks to more insistent press of lips. Stiles doesn’t seem to mind, his tongue is warm, slick and rough as Derek runs the tip of his tongue over Stiles’. His teeth and lips part as he lets Stiles’ tongue into his mouth. Noses bump and teeth clack in their hurry, and when he finally lets his hands move on bare skin he moans against Stiles mouth, feeling his body press against his with more force.

           Stiles is right, he is distracted, he’s not allowed himself to experience all his senses like this in a long time, simultaneously hearing both the beat of Stiles’ heart and his rapid breathing. The smells, tastes and sights of flushed and aroused skin. And not just Stiles. He can smell himself, citrus-sweet, and he’s just grateful that Stiles cannot smell him. He kisses down his neck, enjoying the feel of Stiles’ hands on his stomach and sides, nails scraping over his skin and making him feel warm.

           “God dude, we like, have to… talk, maybe about boundaries, because this is… definitely not talking. So not talking.”

           “You took too long,” Derek mutters, licking around Stiles’ ear and nibbling gently, wondering if he could make Stiles come just from kissing. He likes a challenge.

           “Too long? Too long to do what?”

           “Put your shirt on.”

           “Dude! You didn’t give me a chance! Not that I want to, because you know, this isn’t much incentive for me to go and put a shirt on… I like this.”

           He pulls back, wanting to put some distance between them. Wants this to not just be about sex. He’s done that and it hadn’t worked out so well. Stiles… deserves better. More. Fortunately he seems to get it, whatever silent message he’s unknowingly sending, rather than pushing himself back against Derek he allows space to remain between them.

           “Right. Yeah… Okay, I… I’ll go put a shirt on. But uh, can I do it under one condition? Like, I know I need to talk to you, with you, but dude, this is kind of like torture. Cause I meant what I said about an incentive okay?”

           “What?” He asks, a bit afraid that Stiles is going to ask for something major, knowing he’ll be unable to say no.

           “Can I take it off again later?”

           “Your shirt?”

           “Well, I was thinking yours…”

           Oh.

           The idea of both of them with their shirts off. Yeah. He nods sharply, agreeing. He doesn’t get why Stiles would want his shirt off, he’s seen him topless too many times to count. It’s not like he’ll be seeing anything he hasn’t seen before. He follows Stiles upstairs, taking note of the moles on his back and the flex of muscle underneath his skin. He’s counted twenty-three before Stiles pulls a shirt from his draw hastily, pulling it over his head and tugging it down. It doesn’t help at all, he knows what he looks like, what he feels like and…

           “Why does it smell like… mountain ash?”

           It smells strongly of mountain ash, unlike when he was in here yesterday when it was a background smell which he just put down to it lingering on Stiles after making the protective circle. It smells of other things as well, a combination of many many different scents, including the horrible body spray Stiles had drenched himself in yesterday but tickling his nose is the sour-milk smell that is distinct to him as mountain ash and he looks at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

           “Ah… I’ve been, experimenting?”

           “With mountain ash?”

           “Yes?”

           Stiles doesn’t sound completely certain, looks even less certain, neither which fill him with confidence and questions pop into his head, even though he already has partial answers to some of them. Experimenting with what? Are you being safe? Does Deaton know? Why do you need to experiment? How is he experimenting exactly?

           “Are you… are you being careful?”

           “Yeah. Yeah of course. I mean. It’s either a yay or nay type thing right? It either works or it doesn’t. No nasty side effects or possible explosions. But the fact that you couldn’t get in today means that some of my experimentation works. Others I can’t test and just have to… believe that it will work.”

           “Right. Is this what you wanted to talk about?”

           “Wha–? Oh. No, well, not really. But also kind of sort of? I have a couple of questions, like when did you tell my dad? Because I’m still totally weirded out by that.”

           “Oh. A couple of months ago. I should’ve told you I’d told him. I’m… I’m sorry.”

           Stiles just stares at him, mouth hanging open and he wonders if he’s said the wrong thing. When Stiles practically leaps at him he knows his increased strength and balance is the only thing that keeps them both upright, but he figures Stiles accepts his apology.


	11. Chapter 11

           “You’ve been saying that a lot in the last few days. You can stop blaming yourself, or whatever it is you are doing.”

       He feels himself soften a little inside, reconfirmation that Stiles seems to worry about him, care about him and he huffs, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, letting Stiles body lean against him and yeah, it feels right.

       “I didn’t want you to have to lie to your dad anymore. I just, forgot to mention to you that I had told him, which kind of defeated the whole point of telling him.”

       “Oh, right. Well then, that’s okay. We all slip up, and I guess it explains all the funny looks he’s been giving me the last couple of months, because seriously dude? I have been getting some really weird looks from him. Now, about stealing my pizza, you know you have to make that up to me right? Because that’s a separate issue.”

       “I’ll take you out for pizza.”

       “I – oh. Really?”

       “Yes really. Stiles. This isn’t a flash in the pan for me.”

       “A flash in the pan? Who even says things like that?”

       “Me.”

       Stiles snorts and he frowns, and he supposes he’s always going to find that slightly endearing that the weirdest things seem to amuse Stiles. “This is…” he struggles to find a word that doesn’t make him sound like a lovesick idiot, but maybe that’s what Stiles needs. “I’ve been watching you for… months.’”

       “Uh… well then, you haven’t been watching very closely have you, because I think everyone knows how I feel about you. I mean… hello.”

       He knows Stiles is joking to hide the true nature of his words, and he can deal with that, because true communication isn’t always his strongest suit, although he finds it easier with Stiles than anyone else.

       “Well, I want you. I want you for as long as you’ll have me.”

       That seems to sink in, because Stiles goes quiet, looking at him and he can tell he has his full undivided attention, his mind not thinking about a dozen other things at once like it seems to do most of the time. They just stare, and he wants to know what he’s thinking, but is a bit afraid of what Stiles might say so keeps quiet, instead just leaving his hands on Stiles hips, holding him gently.

       “Yeah. Okay.”

       He nods sharply, not really sure what he can say to that; Stiles final realization that this is serious.

       “What else did you want to talk about?”

       “Uh. Well I was going to talk to you about the experimenting, but uh, it’s not urgent. It can wait.” He feels Stiles’ hands sneak below his shirt and it’s like Stiles thinks he’s somehow subtle and his lips twitch in amusement. He’s surprised though when Stiles just leans in and kisses him. It’s firm, as if Stiles knows exactly what he wants and he lets himself be kissed, feeling a tongue run over his lips and he parts them, shifting his body slightly and pulling Stiles tighter against him.

       “Are you okay?”

       “Ooohhh-kay. Oh. I am so much more than okay. Can we uh, talk later?”

       “Yeah. Later is good.”

       He lets himself relax, feel and sense nothing other than Stiles, lets himself say the first words that come to his mind when he can (gorgeous, your skin, Stiles), when his mouth isn’t busy placing tiny kisses on every single mole on Stiles’ face. Their words all jumble together and he likes that his mind isn’t solely focused on his words, words that are spilling out of his mouth without him second-guessing their possible meaning. No doubt Stiles is listening and filing away everything he says for future analysis and use, but he hopes he can distract him enough to stop him from doing that. He slips his hands under his t-shirt, knowing that now, finally, he’s going to have the opportunity to do something he’s been wanting to do for months.

       He tugs Stiles’ shirt off over his head, it’s ungainly because Stiles’ hands are still underneath his own shirt, but he manages to get them free and tosses the shirt to the floor, grateful that there’s only a single layer, given that Stiles hasn’t even worn it for longer than five minutes. He lets himself look and touch freely this time, thumb nails scraping gently across nipples that he has no idea of sensitivity and he lowers his head to pepper kisses over the moles, soft ones for now, although a part of him wants to mark Stiles for each and every tiny spot.

       “What are you doing?” Stiles asks, breathless, eyes blown wide and staring at him, lips swollen and shiny with saliva. Fuck.

       “Nothing.”

       “Wow, even I could tell that was a lie. My body is really not that interesting man.”

       He disagrees completely of course, and he’s been busy measuring the distance between each spot with his fingers, drawing little spider web patterns with his finger tips, and yep, it’s definitely official, he’s obsessed. He sort of likes the feeling really, and as obsessions go then it’s pretty good. Not harmful to anyone and actually pretty pleasing for himself. And Stiles he hopes. And he can make it pleasing for him. He wants to lie him down on the bed and lick him all over, but he doesn’t want to stop the mutual looking and touching quite yet (because of course Stiles hands are back under his shirt).

       “You – you too. I want to see… you.”

       He strips his own shirt off in an easy practiced motion, throwing it to the floor with Stiles’ and he knows when he puts it on later it will smell a little like Stiles. Stiles has dropped to his knees and he reaches for him, not wanting this, well, not right now, but his hand gets batted away and then Stiles is just licking a stripe up over his stomach and he knows he must look a little confused but Stiles is on his feet again, mouth on his and it’s hot and desperate.

       He can feel hands in the back pockets of his jeans, tugging him forward and he lets Stiles shuffle backwards, the edge of the bed forcing him to stumble and his hands are still caught in his back pockets so he falls as carefully as he can, mostly on Stiles but bracing the majority of his weight on his arms. He can hear Stiles saying oh god over and over like a broken record before he says pinch me, pinch me so I know this is real and he grins into the crook of Stiles’ neck.

       “I can do one better then that,” and he bites, not long enough to leave a dark mark, but he feels Stiles hips thrust up, hears his low moan and he pulls back. “A biting kink? Really Stiles?”

       “I think I have an everything kink okay? God Derek…do you have any idea what you do to me?”

       “Some,” he smirks, earning a pinch so his side but it just makes him smile wider.

       “No need to be smug mister! I think I’m starting to realize just how much I affect you. It’s kind of nice to know I have some sort of power over you.”

       He can’t help but tense at the words and Stiles notices immediately, hand stroking down his chest before drumming his fingers on his stomach.

       “I wouldn’t though. You know that right?”

       “I – yeah.”

       He does know, because there is no ounce of guile in Stiles. He knows what Stiles is feeling all the time because it’s written so clearly on his face and body. It’s just taken him a while to become an expert on the language. He shifts on the bed, intending to sit up but instead finds himself being poked by Stiles until he’s lying on his back in the middle of the bed. Stiles looks at him for a moment, as if waiting for him to say something, object, and then Stiles is straddling his legs; weight resting on the top of his thighs and he lets himself run his hands over Stiles’ own thighs.

       This view, half naked and flushed, eyes bright, makes him really appreciate just how beautiful he is. He runs his hands up his legs to his flank, fingers feather light and he traces between the moles with his index finger, watching avidly as the skin flushes warmer. He looks up to meet Stiles’ eyes and he shrugs, because he’s not ashamed that he finds Stiles attractive.

       “You are so weird.”

       “I’m the weird one?”

       “They’re moles Derek. Beauty spots if you want to be poetic, nothing special.”

       “Mmm. They’re special because they’re on you.”

       He tries to keep a straight face, knows how corny that had sounded to his own ears despite the truth; when Stiles collapses against his chest in laughter he thrusts his hips upward, rocking them slightly, hands going to stroke down the bare length of Stiles’ back. He feels and hears the moan reverberate through Stiles, feels the answering rock of hips and the mouth working on his collar bone in what feels like a vain attempt to leave a mark. He doesn’t mind that Stiles is trying at all.

       “Are we uh, doing this? Like um, what are we doing exactly?”

       “Whatever you want. What feels good.”

       “What feels good. I am so totally on board for what feels good. Like you wouldn’t believe how on board I am with that.”

       “I think I do,” Derek replies, because he can feel the growing hardness in his own pants, pressing against Stiles who he’s pretty sure has been hard since he came downstairs. He lets his hands roam, still feeling like he needs to keep his hands above the waist, or over clothes, until he gets express permission.

       “Touch me. Fucking hell, touch me. Please Derek.”

       Or demands.

       Demands work too. Stiles’ jeans are loose, not loose enough to just push down, because that would be too easy, but loose enough for him to work the buttons, and he’s just grateful that they’re buttons and not a zip. He palms Stiles through the fabric and lets his fingers slip inside, mouth reaching up to kiss Stiles while he does it.

       “Pants off. Pants off pants off pants OFF.”

       “Uh, okay?”

       “I’m going to come, and if it’s all over your jeans you’re going to get pissed, so just, uh…”

       It seems to occur to Stiles that now is a good time to get embarrassed and his arms flail a bit, eyes suddenly looking everywhere but at Derek. He moves away suddenly, completely uncoordinated and falls to the floor.

       “Are you okay?” Derek asks, peering over the side before standing and offering his hand. Stiles take it and he pulls him to standing, stepping in close, hand cupping his jaw and searching his face for whatever that seems to have Stiles spooked.

       “I thought I was ready for sex, and god my body is going to kill me in my sleep, but uh, I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet, and uh, so I might be freaking out a little? Yeah. Just a little.”

       A part of him wants to point out that Stiles is the one who suggested they lose their pants, but also that nakedness does not actually have to mean full-on penetrative sex, and he figures that’s what Stiles is freaking out about, because he seemed okay with dry humping him… Jesus, was it less than 48 hours ago?

       “Stiles, that’s fine. I was just thinking hand jobs…”

       “Oh my god, you’d let me… of course you’d let me. Ignore me, I’m an idiot. Yeah okay, we can uh, get back to the taking off of pants now.”

       “Mmm, you take mine off first,” he says, before kissing him, a hand on either side of his face. He smiles against Stiles’ lips at the little meep sound he makes at the back of his throat, the fluttery feel of fingers against the waist of his jeans before the fingers become firmer, more assertive against his zipper as it is carefully tugged down.

       “Oh god, Derek, you, this is…”

       He hums in agreement, not able to put words to it either, his mouth too busy anyway, kissing again the moles on Stiles head. He’s trying to kiss them all, starting from the crown of his head, wanting to kiss even the ones he knows are virtually invisible beneath Stiles’ hair, before working his way down to the next one with his tongue before kissing that too. It’s going to take him month, years, to know where each and every single one is

       “Is this ah, a werewolf thing, the licking and kissing all my moles?”

       “No.”

       “Oh, so it’s just a Derek thing then.”

       “Mmm. It’s a Stiles thing.”

       “Okay. Oh my god…”

       He’s down to his shoulders, and he walks around Stiles, kicking his shoes and jeans to the side, fingers trailing over skin that is becoming slick with sweat and saliva from where he’s been kissing and licking. Stiles seems content to stand there while he makes several circuits, head going to kiss each spot and licking little patterns between them when he can. He can feel Stiles starting to tremble each time he touches him, and his jeans are hanging precariously loose, one shake and they would fall to the floor.

       Stiles whimpers when he kneels in front of him, staring down with confusion and he just murmurs it’s okay under his breath. He tugs the jeans and as he predicted they fall to the ground immediately. Stiles is wearing boxer briefs, light gray ones with a darker gray patch where he’s been leaking pre-come. He can smell it, and the urge to just bury his head and take a deep breath is strong. He ignores it, instead finding the spots again, this time under the wiry hair on Stiles’ legs and he kisses his way down.

       He gets as far as his knees before he changes directions and starts moving back up his body. He flicks his eyes up to Stiles face, wants to gauge his reaction, and seeing him give a sharp nod lets himself run his nose up the length of Stiles’ erection, inhaling and saving the scent memory, even though he’ll probably regret it later when the slightest whiff in the future will undoubtedly make him hard. He takes his time, enjoys the feel of Stiles carding his fingers through his hair, the increasing rock of his body against his mouth and hands, the murmured words of nonsensical encouragement as he stands again.

       Stiles pushes a hand between their bodies, and when he feels it tentatively touch his cock through his underwear he’s not sure who moans first. He reaches for Stiles, cupping and palming with the length of his hand, pressing and rubbing while Stiles makes a hiccoughing-gasp and matches the movements with his own hand on Derek’s cock. He lets his head rest on Stiles’ shoulder, staring down between their bodies at their matching erections and hands working on each other.

       “Fuck that’s hot,” Stiles says, and he feels his head thunk heavily against his shoulder as he joins him in watching their hands and cocks become acquainted.

       “Yeah, yeah it is.”

       “I have no idea what I’m doing though, except for what I’ve seen in porn, and I’ve got to tell you, it doesn’t exactly offer this type of sensory experience…”

       They both make huffing sounds of amusement.

       “Just, do what feels good to yourself…”

       “Uh, pretty sure thinking about you isn’t going to help you here. Wait. That made no sense. Oh god, yeah, harder. Fuck.”

       He does as instructed and works his hand a little harder. The head of his cock is sticking out the top of his underwear, Stiles brushes over the tip with his thumb and Derek swears under his breath before placing a sucking bruising kiss on Stiles’ shoulder. He works his fingers of his free hand between the elastic and Stiles body, easing it down slightly before lifting his head.

       “Is this… okay?”

       “Oh god, you’re asking me now? Again? Yeah, yeah, it’s okay. I said already… fuck Derek.”

       “Okay.”

       He takes in a deep breath, focusing for a moment and then shifts his hand against the stretchy fabric, letting a solitary claw extend and slice through. His other hand continues to caress Stiles’ cock, but he’s focused on not hurting Stiles right now. He does it again on the other side, pulling the loose fabric, enjoying the squawk of surprise the Stiles lets out against his mouth.

       “Dude, did you just… claw my underwear off?”

       “Mmmhmm…”

       “Oh… oh my god. I am not explaining that to my dad. You’re buying me a new pair.”

       He’s not sure how a new pair will lessen the amount of explaining they might have to do if Jim ever finds the scraps of Stiles’ underwear, but he’s more than happy to buy Stiles underwear.

       “Okay.”

       “New pairs even, because you look like you enjoyed that too much. My underwear is an innocent casualty of sex!”

       He makes a quite hum of agreement again and wraps his hand around Stiles cock, bare skin on bare skin for the first time and Stiles stutters into silence for a brief moment, his hands on Derek stilling and then as if he’s been reminded Stiles is talking again, muttering about how good it feels, how he wants to feel Derek’s cock. He feels the elastic being pushed down and he helps, pushing with his free hand until they’re down around his thighs and while Stiles is busy he shifts and wraps his hand around the both of them.

       “Oh fuck. Yeah. Oh god, your… hggngh.”

       He’d expected Stiles to want his hands on his cock again, but instead he has Stiles’ arms around his neck, hands in his hair, mouth on his throat where he’s murmuring, tongue licking the rest of his body thrusting his cock into the fist he has curled around both their cocks. Stiles feels perfect under his hand, hot satin against his erection and he moans, enjoy the wholly-contradictory sensation of hardness but also yielding softness as he works their cocks together.

       “Stiles…”

       “Derek, oh my god,” Stiles says, and there are more garbled words after that, but he pays more attention to Stiles’ body, the increased pace it is rocking against his and he really wants to do this lying down, to feel Stiles moving under him, above him, in his lap… all the positions he can think of.  And that’s just this, hand jobs. Everything else offers a world of possibilities and he’s glad in the knowledge that Stiles will be just as enthusiastic as he is to try everything together. He moves his hand faster, really wanting to know what Stiles likes, how he touches himself, but the memory of last night flares through his mind and he groans, hand gripping a bit tighter, licking at the fresh sweat on Stiles skin.

       “Oh god. Derek, going to come, fuck, so fucking close…”

        _Do it_ he wills, wanting the smell and feel, wants to be able to taste.

       “Stiles… going to lick you clean.” The little meeping whimper that Stiles releases sounds almost pained and he turns his head, nipping his earlobe and whispering into his ear. “Going to lick you all over once were finished, clean you all over so I can taste you on my tongue for days.”

       “Fucking hell, oh fuck Derek, god, yes, oh yes,” Stiles is gasping, and he starts swearing endlessly, and he recognizes the pattern from last night and sure enough Stiles comes, hot and sticky between them, dripping over his fingers and he continues working them, hopes Stiles doesn’t get over-sensitive. He can feel his own orgasm tightly coiled, waiting for release, and he lets go, feels it unfurl inside him uncontrollably and he comes, and he breathes in deeply through his nose, taking in the smell of them together. Even after several showers he’ll still be able to smell this on them.

       “I need to sit down before I fall down… oh my god. My legs feel like jelly.”

       He shuffles them to the side, where a perfectly good bed awaits and he settles Stiles before pushing him to lie back. He’d meant what he said about licking him clean. He uses Stiles’ t-shit to wipe himself, grins at Stiles outraged look and then kneels over him before lowering his head and licking a wide stripe up the centre of his stomach and chest. He stops and draws back, anointing each moles with the smear of their mixed come and then licks again.

       “Oh my god, you are so weird. And you think I have a weird biting kink? I am so the normal one in this relationship.”

       He doesn’t deign that with an answer, just keeps licking until Stiles is wriggling from the inactivity and he can almost taste the freshness of the shower beneath his tongue. He quickly pulls on his underwear and jeans, ignoring the filthy look Stiles gives him as he shoves the ruined underwear under his mattress, instead glad that it’s given Stiles something else to think about rather than being embarrassed.“This looks good on you, you know?”

       “What does?”

       “Uh, post coital bliss? Or, uh, in more general terms, you just look pretty happy…”

       He lies down on the bed, gesturing for Stiles to join him and he does, lying on his side so he can apparently watch him. He nods, because he is happy, happier than he’s been in a while. He feels Stiles fingers trailing over his stomach. It’s obvious Stiles has a thing for his stomach, just as much as his thing for Stiles’ moles is as obvious as the nose on his face. He huffs and smiles in amusement when he feels Stiles starting to play naughts and crosses on his abdominals.

       “What? I can’t be fascinated by your abs? There’s a whole civilization here man, mountains and valleys, with little rivers of sweat and uh, yeah, let’s pretend it’s just sweat, with tiny little invisible people boating around in it.”

       He laughs again and shakes his head.

       “You’re ridiculous.”

       “This from the guy who has been categorizing all my moles and scars.”

       He shrugs, because it’s true, and he doesn’t care that Stiles knows. He likes that Stiles know.

       “I like your moles and scars.”

       “Well, I like your abs. Actually, I like you. The entire Derek package. Derek Hale experience. Exclusive rights currently in the possession of one Stiles Stilinski. It is exclusive right?”

       He rolls his eyes, shakes his head huffs a quiet laugh.

       “Definitely exclusive rights." Quieter he says, "I like you too Stiles. I like you too.”

 

END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an eventual companion piece to this from Stiles' POV. It's started but has stalled along with all my other writing due to ill health. Like this fic I will post it as a WIP on tumblr and then here once it is complete.


End file.
